


The Reaper's Bookshop

by smilingcrescent



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Detective, Fun, Humor, M/M, Mystery, POV Third Person, Romance, light fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilingcrescent/pseuds/smilingcrescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian is good with computers...he makes it his business to be good, but that's not all there is to him, and he goes out of his way to use his skills to check out a certain Ciel Phantomhive. </p><p>Ciel works in Undertaker's bookshop, where he first meets Sebastian.  After a rocky start, how will these two get to know each other?</p><p><b>Excerpt: Ch. 14</b> “Ciel, you aren’t doing your boyfriend any favors by hiding beside those bushes. Even Officer Alberline noticed you there.” Vincent calls over. He smiles thinly, torn between amusement at his son’s surprised expression and suspicion at the boy’s presence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Regulars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General warning for Readers Who Like (Only!) Smut/Lemons/Porn/Hard-Core Yaoi...
> 
> I DON'T write smut / lemons. Don't expect this warning on every chapter, either. I will never write lemons.
> 
> I write what I call "Light Romance." Sebastian and Ciel tease each other romantically, but they aren't going to be kissing passionately at any given opportunity. (I find that out of character).

Chapter 1

“Ciel,” the Undertaker calls, his voice sing-song and light.

The young man pushes a strand of blue-black hair out of his face, and his visible eye trains on his employer. “Yes?” he asks quietly.

The Undertaker—his preferred title in the novelty-and-book shop—smiles, uncannily covering one eye with this grayish fringe while keeping his expression and gaze unfocused. The combined effect was rather like talking to a dead witch. “Did you see a box on your way in?” a lazy smile parts his lips, and just after he has Ciel’s attention, he turns away. His gaze begins to wander for the illusive box, presumably.

“…there were a few empty ones in the staff-room…” he admits, just as slow.

With a small laugh, the Undertaker shakes his head. “Take care of the customers for a minute, would you? I’ll see if I can find it.”

Ciel looks around the small store, past the decorative spider webs, the leaning coffins and other gothic decorations. There isn’t a person in sight…at least, not anyone who looks ready for ‘help.’ They’d only just opened for the day.

“….ok.” he says finally.

Ciel comes out from behind the café counter, walking over a handful of paces. He looks experimentally at the cash registers. There’s a little “social voodoo doll” decorating the display, handmade by the Undertaker in a weird cute-gothic combination. He occasionally makes so-called authentic dolls for interested parties, but Ciel remains unimpressed.

After all, his family is a well-known toy company that specializes in plush toys. Granted, of course, it _is_ declining in popularity as compared with cheaper, mass-produced toys with no sense of elegance or longevity.

Ciel picks up a bigger plush from the counter—a ghoul with wings—and examines the stitching, weight, and materials. He’s almost ready to pass critical judgment on it when the bell rings. A new customer has entered.

The young man is tall, fair of complexion, and dark haired. His lips are spread into a long, ironic smile that shows a bit of teeth, and his eyes are still half veiled. “Excuse me.” He has made a leisurely path for Ciel. Perhaps he recognizes his “period” costume as the store’s uniform, or maybe it’s Ciel’s proximity to the registers.

The young man regards Ciel calmly, open expression and faint smile unchanging. He lifts his gaze a little, and Ciel notes with surprise the deep mahogany red and long, thick lashes.

For a moment, Ciel says nothing. Then he puts one hand on his hip and frowns. Pouts, really, though he’d never admit to it. “Can I help you?” he asks slowly. Nearly demands it, but his tone is too calm. Almost bored, so the customer only sees it as soft, refined arrogance.

“I’m looking for,” and he pauses here, meeting Ciel’s gaze with equal attention. He enunciates quietly, crisply. He takes care to show his tongue _just_ barely. “…a book.”

Ciel scoffs, annoyance flashing on his delicate features. He shrugs, expertly rearranging his expression to that of the cool, unfazed school boy. “Are you?” He smiles slightly, mockery or something like it on his tone.

“Yes. I’d like a good read, that is, if you can spare the time to suggest one?” amusement licks at his voice, as though Ciel’s haughty attitude only serves to heighten his content.

Caught now in an emmployee’s bind to serve, Ciel offers a minute nod. “I can help you…” he starts, “but I ordinarily work in the café. Any specific questions about our more unusual tomes will have to be redirected to the Undertaker.”

“Ah, yes. I had asked for a particular one over the phone…do you have anything in for Sebastian Michaelis?” he asks, moving closer to the boy.

Ciel looks at him for a moment, and then to the registers. “Wait here.” He bites on his lip slowly, trying to remember where the Undertaker keeps his list of call-in-orders. _Or whatever they’re called…_ he thinks darkly. _Why is he bothering me?_ swiftly follows that thought.

While he bends down to look at the shelf and loose papers bound up, he hears a quiet snicker. The Undertaker is a few steps away, peering out from behind a display of doll coffins. His smile is still wide, showing his teeth, though Ciel is a little uncertain as to his motive.

“…Undertaker, where is the list of special orders?” he asks, still bent over the folder. He glances up just briefly to see the tall man stoop again. His long fingers are made skeletal by the awkward pose, and his long, decorative nails. He vaguely picks at a few items, moving them around in an effort to appear otherwise engaged.

“It’s in there…” he murmurs, stepping away from the pile. “I’m still looking for the box, so…why don’t you help the young man, and I’ll just…” he turns to a nearby stack of displays, looking unconvincingly in clear places. He snickers some more, and instead of finishing the sentence, he gestures with his too long sleeves in an indistinct way.

Sebastian smiles slightly. His demeanor is rather professional—as though he is accustomed to pleasing others.

"If you're too busy, of course I understand," he purrs, meaning to trap Ciel into the conversation. Polite convention demands that he deny any work in order to help the customer.

Not that Ciel has much work to do.

The pastries are already made, brought in by a local chef, and the coffee or tea is made for each customer. Aside from polishing the counter and chairs, Ciel has no other duties.

Sebastian looks at Ciel expectantly.

Ciel coughs. "It's no problem. What sort of book are you looking for? I mean, besides the special ordered one." He fumbles through the file some more, but Sebastian is only smiling at him. Still.

“What do you have on…dark magic?” he asks eventually, mulling over the words and looking only at Ciel.

Ciel begins to suspect that the question is meant to be baiting. “…were you looking for a Grimoire, or a history?”

The two stand not a meter apart, but they might as well be sitting on opposite sides of a chess board. Ciel continues pretending at nonchalance, while Sebastian examines Ciel blatantly.

A moment passes. "Grimoire." He says, his tone as bland as if he were ordering a familiar vintage of wine, though in fact, he's not entirely sure what a Grimoire is.

Ciel puts the files down, and walks over to a tall bookshelf. He sets a footstool down, and gestures as he unlocks the display. "The third shelf from the top is all we have."

Sebastian wonders if having a whole shelf on Grimoires is unusual. Considering the decor, he imagines that it might be. “I see.” He smiles. The books do not have titles, he notes, so much as they have ornate bindings and deep, richly dyed leathers. “Have you studied them closely?”

Ciel shrugs. “I don’t have much time for reading on dark magic,” he admits, “but I have heard that even one of these is a collection maker.” He steps onto the footstool and pulls a small tome from the top. His small hands are delicately formed, and Sebastian immediately notices a silver ring...a signet ring? Or a class ring?

Sebastian accepts the black tome, and inspects the violet pentacle on the cover. He opens it to find a hand-written, paper tag inserted between the velum and the first page.

_Some knowledge of Latin and Greek may help your understanding. You will require some magical implements for certain spells. Return when you know which spells you wish to attempt, and the Undertaker will assist you with creating a supply list._

And also:

“Authentic Grimoire, Handwritten, early 1800s. £250.”

“Hm,” Sebastian remarks, and leafs through the first few pages.

Sebastian considers the diagrams and spells and dismisses them as New Age rubbish. Or, if it actually was written two hundred years earlier, then it was the fantasies of some long-dead crazy person.

Ciel stands to the side, watching the older man flip through the pages, making sure the customer doesn’t damage or outright steal the handwritten tome. He follows Sebastian’s hands back to the home shelf, smiling with satisfaction. Ciel tries to go back to his domain (only after locking the display), but a touch to his elbow stops him.

“If I can trouble you further….make me some tea, please.” The young man’s request rings of proper upbringing, but his thin, half-smile together with his handsome face makes it more of a veiled demand. “Do you have Ceylon Silver Tea?”

Ciel snaps his eyes away from the long, elegant hands. “Pardon?”

Sebastian is quiet. “A white tea.” He clarifies. “Or Assam?”

Ciel continues looking blankly in his direction.

“It’s an Indian tea, known for its malty, full-bodied flavor.” Sebastian supplies. He smiles charmingly once again.

“We have Jasmine tea, Black tea, Earl Grey, and Her Majesty’s Blend.” Ciel lists. He moves behind the counter. “We also have a Café Late, Café Americano, Chai, and…drip-coffee.” He tilts his head to the side. “I have under good word that the Chai is very authentic.”

Sebastian nods. “Hm.” He appears to consider it, and in the end shakes his head. “Jasmine tea, then.” Instead of sitting down to wait for the tea to be brewed, Sebastian leans on the counter, watching Ciel prepare the tea. His eyes follow Ciel’s hands, from his carefully measuring of the tea leaves, to the testing the temperature of the boiling water and painstakingly measured-out, proper quantity and all, into the small teapot. He sets a kitchen timer, and then readies a tray, napkin, spoon and cup on a tray.

Three minutes of steeping later, he places the ensemble in front of Sebastian. “Would you like a pastry or biscuit?”

“Watching you brew tea is like watching a science experiment.” Sebastian replies slowly. “Tea is not a science—it’s an art.” He pours a cup, taking a spoonful of the clear-but-golden tea. “But his is passable.” He smiles at last.

Ciel nods again, and makes himself busy cleaning up the bar, feeling Sebastian’s gaze on him for a moment.

“Do you go to school around here? Studying the A-levels, perhaps?”

“I’m a senior this year.”

“Well, now.” The smile widens, and Ciel notices the other man’s deep red eyes. “Do you know what you’re doing after graduation? University, perhaps, or employment?” He raises an eyebrow.

Ciel barely keeps from scowling. “Do you need milk with your tea, Sebastian?”

“I’m sure the Undertaker would love you to stay part time, but I know of several places that might hire a young man such as yourself. If you’re willing to work with the occult and dress so charmingly,” his eyes go up and down Ciel’s body, fixing on his eye patch, “there are many opportunities for you.”

Ciel frowns openly. “I’m not interested in ‘occult friendly’ employment.” He sniffs, and abandons his post in favor of helping the Undertaker find the specially ordered books.

“Hello Ciel.” Undertaker looks up from a box of Sok-Sok key-chains. He dangles a pirate in one hand, and a tiny, string-wrapped figure clutching a heart. “Could you tell Sebastian that he’ll have to come back? It looks like there was a mistake in the order sheet.”

“You tell him. I’ll set up the keychain display.”

Undertaker smiles, showing too many teeth. “Only if you give me a first rate laugh.” He looks at Ciel expectantly, as though he’ll come up with a joke on the spot.

Ciel sighs. “Do you have a box in for the café?” he pleads.

“No.”

“Do you need help with the key-chains?” whiny, but hopeful, Ciel persists.

“He’s an interesting man, that Sebastian… you ought to talk with him, He might have something you’re looking for.”

“Hah.” Ciel snorts. “That guy just suggested I work for people interested in the occult. He sounds like a pimp, if you ask me.”

“Pimp?” Sebastian’s lips curve into a frown. “I like to think I offer better services than that.”

Ciel whirls around, color rising to his cheeks. “Services?” Ciel arches an eyebrow with contempt.

Sebastian sighs, a properly offended expression on his face. He decides to explain…after a fashion.

“I work for the people.” He says airily. “But I find it’s hard to get new ideas into the industry when people think they can do the same thing with help of a blog.” A hint of amusement pulls at his lips.

Ciel purses his lip, coloring all the more. _Something like amateur porn?_ he wonders silently.

The Undertaker nods absently. “It’s hard to get an authentic, but artistic atmosphere that still fits the customer’s mood.”

 _Atmosphere? Mood?_ Increasingly alarmed, Ciel’s gaze darts to the little heart-holding toy. _Trying for orgasm faces?_ He wonders.

“Yes, of course. The mood is most important in all things. For example, it’s always a challenge to make an elegant but dignified space with a limited budget.” Sebastian agrees, and his gaze wanders around the slightly cluttered bookshop.

_Porn director?_

The Undertaker laughs, his eyes trained on Ciel’s red face. “Yes, but some people prefer honesty.” The Undertaker smiles continuously. “People naturally have things, you know...We cement our lives with objects, though none come with us in the end.” He continues laughing to himself, and twirls one of the key-chains.

Sebastian bows a little. “In your case, the online web services are probably quite a disadvantage…”

“Whereas in yours, it’s a definite plus.” Ciel mutters. 

Raising an eyebrow, Sebastian shakes his head. “Not as much as you might think.” He cocks his head a fraction. “An increasing presence of people who think they know what they’re doing online makes it hard to distinguish a professional from a tinker.”

Ciel blinks, finally floored. _He’s a porn web designer?_ Unbidden, the words fall out of his mouth.

“What are you, an amateur porn director?”

Sebastian’s cool demeanor crumbling into outright laughter. His thin shoulders shake with laughter. The Undertaker looks on with a confused frown. But he laughs too, always ready to join in on amusement.

Ciel turns on his heel, escaping behind the tea counter.

Sebastian Michaelis, in the throes of helpless laughter, only watches. This “sweet” child is more suspicious than he had expected. He certainly wasn’t expecting that…Said boy, pink in the cheeks and refusing to meet his gaze, has all but disappeared into the background.

Sebastian excuses himself shortly after, intent on coming back when the good Undertaker is away.

_Ah, but this was a good morning._

Where their next conversation will take them, he does not know. But he looks forward to it…


	2. Captured

Undertaker fingers the spine of a book, his long nails dancing along the ornate script. Even now, alone with his books, a smile plays at his lips. He hums under his breath, removes a book, caresses the first few pages, and sets it back.

The bell chimes. Undertaker glances over his shoulder and smiles half-heartedly. "Welcome."

William nods, stoic as ever. He sits at the bar, looking around casually. "Your boy not here today?"

Undertaker chuckles, his thin shoulders rolling in something of a shrug. "He'll be by shortly…I told him he didn't need to come until 10 today."

"Hm." William pushes his glasses up, frowning as he glances at his watch. "That's not for another 15 minutes."

"Shall I make you an espresso?"

"No, that won't be necessary…your beverages are less than…palatable at best." William leans back into his chair. "I heard you've been enjoying a good clientele recently."

Undertaker shrugs. "Curious university students and secondary school brats who don't want to go home take a peek most days. The coffee and toys are more popular than my books…Especially my voodoo dolls and accessories." He walks gingerly closer to the bar. "I've been talking with someone who wants to set up an online shop." His lips droop exaggeratedly. Undertaker is not really certain that he _wants_ to part with even a few volumes from his collection.

"That would probably help pay for expenses…unless your coffee shop makes enough for the rent?"

Undertaker shrugs, vague on the details of his business. "I own the building," he explains. "How's business for the dead and dying, then?"

"The hospital is doing well, but you know I work for the delinquent clients, managing the simple employs who serve papers and talk to the clients or the bereaved." Will shrugs. "And the accountants, of course." He prefers the numbers to the people, emotional and stupid as they are.

"Ah, yes. The bereaved. Death is the great equalizer, they say…but I guess not so much for those left with bills to pay." Undertaker sighs. "You should give your people some of my cards…I'm sure there are plenty interested in séance books, or voodoo dolls." He smiles slow and wide. He gesticulates wildly. "It would be such a laugh to see that man again…"

William's eyes flick to the burnished silver bell with a manic clown doll perched on top bell on the door. The bell jangles as the door opens again, and Ciel walks in.

"Good morning. Did you want an espresso, Mr. Spears?" Ciel makes his way behind the bar, shrugging his bag to the floor.

"Yes, thank you."

"Coming right up." Ciel washes his hands briskly, and goes about the finicky business of espresso making, paying a mind to details.

"Did you already wash the cups, Undertaker?" Ciel asks, already opening the dishwasher. He finds the warm cups, nods, and sets the cup down.

Ciel busies himself with the machine for a few minutes, and lets the coffee stream out and the rich aroma of fills the café, and brings the steaming cup over to where will waits. "£1.20, please."

Will nods, and pays for his cup. "You should be grateful to have someone who knows how to make a decent espresso...I believe his tea was good, too. You'd never get anyone to come back, otherwise."

Undertaker smiles vaguely, and goes back to examining the bookshelves.

The work day is just unfolding. Who knows what will happen?

Later, the Undertaker answers the phone. Ciel can't hear much of the conversation—the Undertaker makes noncommittal remarks. Finally, he puts the phone back in the cradle.

"Your father," the Undertaker proclaims with severity and quiet sincerity, "is absolutely mad."

Rolling his eyes, Ciel manages a bored expression. "Oh?" He's helping organize what he's come to think of as fan-zines, as he's never heard of _many_ of the titles. "What's he done that's anything to do with you?"

Undertaker laughs. "Oh, you know. He asked for a few things...but the laughs he gave in return? Completely _mad._ " He gives Ciel a look, and his eyes, shadowed only by his strange, light-colored lashes, gleam like ocean glass. "You could learn from him, you know. To lose a few inhibitions."

Ciel, aghast at the implications, shakes his head tightly. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

The Undertaker smiles. "Ah. Is that right? Curious, hungry for games Ciel Phantomhive doesn't want to know what his dear Papa said?"

Blushing now, Ciel only wishes his skin were less fair. His embarrassment is always a badge on his cheeks. He turns stiffly. "Would you care for a cuppa?"

"No, thank you." Undertaker clutches a glass bottle, weirdly capped with a skull. "I've got my own."

Ciel sits down, pulling a notebook out of a cubby. He looks at a few of his more gothic plush designs, inspired partially by the surroundings. "Do you think he'd let me produce my own line yet?" of course, he meant his father. He continued to wonder aloud. "I think I could turn business around for us..."

"Ambitious Phantomhive." He eyes Ciel. "If it's really true, you should think about what Sebastian said." His mouth twitches.

Ciel almost drops the sketchbook. "What?" he sputters. "Shouldn't you be trying to-" Ciel flounders for words.

"-protect your virtue? he offers. "You could do that yourself."

"Protect your interests as a shop owner." Ciel retorts sharply.

The Undertaker only shrugs. "He's an interesting man, that Sebastian." He twirls his hair idly. "And besides, couldn't we share you?"

Ciel snorts dramatically. "You have got to be kidding me."

With a look to the left, the Undertaker chortles. "Well." He drawls.

"He's a pervert."

"And?"

"I'm- my family-"

"Ambitious Phantomhive." The Undertaker smiles again. "What, afraid of bunny ears and makeup?" the mental image is enough to bring another laughing storm.

Ciel scowls.

"Don't worry..." Undertaker sniggers. "I don't think that's his style." A long moment passes as Ciel sizes up the Undertaker's sanity levels. "Though it _would_ be funny."

Ciel rolls his eyes again and goes back to the sketchbook. His fingers are halfway in the bag of art pencils before he realizes the image he wants to draw is none other than Sebastian. In plush form.

"I'm going out." the Undertaker announces. "Hold the fort and all that..." he trails off.  
Ciel resists the urge to scoff. Barely. Of late, the Undertaker has left Ciel alone for some time. As though he and Sebastian were conspiring.

Ciel sighs and waits for something to happen.

* * *

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

He's not let down. Sebastian, of course, comes to visit.

A piercing scream bubbles out from the back room. Sebastian half expects the tins of tea to rattle.

"What exactly does he think is so funny?" Ciel mutters, rolling his eyes.

"That noise is him laughing?" Sebastian raises an eyebrow over his cup of Jasmine tea.

Sebastian considers the break room door. At last he is alone with Ciel, free to share a private conversation…at least until Undertaker emerges.

Ciel has come to expect Sebastian to come in for a cuppa at opening on weekends, and more frequently from past four. _Whenever my shift starts_ Ciel suspects.

Ciel shrugs, fixing Sebastian with cold appraisal. He polishes the counter and hangs the cloth to dry.

Sebastian ponders how to try to engage Ciel in conversation when Ciel begins to speak. "Your books came in." Ciel gives him a paper bag.

Sebastian lifts out _Persecution of Cats During the Black Death_ and _The Devil's Dictionary_ and smiles. "Thank you."

Ciel nods, a glint of satisfaction in his eye. "Undertaker said you already paid. Now you won't have to hang around here all the time." Ciel crosses the room, intent on settling behind the counter to read.

"If you would be so kind, I wouldn't mind another book on a similar subject." Sebastian sets his tray on the bar.

Ciel glances at the back room where the Undertaker lurks. Why is he taking a break first thing in the morning? Reluctantly, he gets up to examine the bookshelves. "Black Death or dictionaries?"

Sebastian smiles, lowering his lashes. "Pestilence. Or something on food," he adds as an afterthought.

Ciel nods, hesitantly stealing a glance at Sebastian. Sebastian, distant as ever, betrays nothing with a look.

They stop before a shelf labeled "histories." Ciel makes to leave, but Sebastian grabs his arm.

"Ciel Phantomhive," Sebastian breathes. Sebastian pulls Ciel closer, turning the boy around to face him. "You are quite beautiful. You seem to have paid a steep price for your looks and your character."

"What would you know about me?" scorn and anger color his voice. Ciel wrenches his arm away, glaring daggers.

"You're the tragic little boy from that incident, aren't you?" Sebastian takes in a breath and whispers, "From your eyes screams a tormented soul, the victim of a tragic past." His voice drips with irony.

Sebastian puts an arm on the bookshelf, effectively pinning Ciel against the wall. "Do you want power? Connections?" His voice is almost a whisper, seductive and low.

Ciel's heart hammers in his chest, but his eye moves, looking for an opening. "Let go of me."

"What about information?" His breath is soft against Ciel's cheek. "I have the means to help you…if you just ask."

Ciel scoffs, on the edge of hysteria. "You mean be your call boy? I don't think so. And I don't want your drug money."

"Not money, though I have it." Sebastian chuckles, and delicately traces Ciel's eye patch with a single black nail. "We'll talk about arrangements that meet both our needs later. Let's make a deal."

Ciel's face twists into a frown. "Fuck off. Get your hands off me."

High and cackling, the Undertaker's laughter makes Ciel flinch. "I think you played your hand too quickly, Sebastian. He's not convinced of your worth. And not in a desperate enough position to want you." He pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

Sebastian looks at the Undertaker, a look of puzzlement on his face. He doesn't step back, or drop his hand, but Ciel, quick as a bird, ducks out from under his arms. Swearing, he retreats to the backroom.

"I have a book on the black death I think you'd like. Or if you prefer, I have a delightful collection of articles on food in the middle ages…the banquets of knights."

Sebastian sighs, and pushes his fringe back away from his eyes. "I suppose I could take a look." He checks his wristwatch and then shakes his head. "But perhaps another time. I'll talk to Ciel later."

Sebastian collects his things with all the dignity of a cat.

* * *

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Trudging through the streets on another rainy day, Ciel hunches under his pullover.

What the hell did Sebastian mean by all that? And how much did he know about his past?

Ciel waits at a zebra crossing, trying to decide whether to go home, or to have some dinner at a pub. If he went home, he should head toward the underground. Near the station, throngs of people walk to and fro, hurrying on their way. It isn't an appealing sight, but home is a nice thought.

Irritated that Sebastian unsettled him so much, Ciel shakes his head. The streets too bustle with drivers, bustling on their way out of the rain in their private refuge. There wasn't a spare thought for anyone in the cars around them, much less for those in the rain. They drove on heedless of him wanting to cross.

_To hell with it. I'm not spending a perfectly good Saturday night doing the same thing as every other night._

Ciel is just ready to cross the street when he realizes the automobile speeding in the other lane isn't getting out of his way.

It screeches to a stop as Ciel lurches backward in mid-step, leaning away from the van. But the door opens too fast, and a big figure leaps out, pulling Ciel and muffling his startled cry. In less than ten seconds, he's in the van, speeding down the road.

Ciel blearily realizes there are two men in the back with him, and another two in the driver and passenger seat.

"Mmf—"

"Get her down, get her down." The man in the passenger seat demands, his voice tight with nerves.

The hand releases Ciel's mouth, clutching her wrists with a vice.

"Unhand me you fuck—!" Ciel spits out, furious beyond measure. "What the hell—"

"Christ, it's a _boy._ " Again, the man in the passenger seat. His voice rises in disbelieving panic. "You grabbed the wrong kid."

Ciel looks from man to man, a sense of dread knocking at his stomach.

"What the hell. The guys said she was heading for the station. And the little fuck is wearing the same thing—black hoodie and jeans. Shit."

"What do we do with him?" The man holding Ciel's wrists wonders, sounding the least perturbed. "We need to go back for the girl, right?"

Ciel resists the urge to ask questions, to promise he won't talk. He knows enough to keep quiet, to not provoke the kidnappers. Best to see how things will play out and plan his counter move carefully.

"Do you still have the girl in sight? I know, I know! Just tell me where she is." The leader barks. He runs a hand through his hair. "We'll turn around. We can still do this." Desperation mixes with pride.

Ciel breathes hard. His mind racing with possibilities even as his lungs constrict. _When they open the door, if I can jump out…_

But the thug has his wrists and doesn't look like he'll let him go at a crucial moment. Ciel finds himself shoved down, his hands handcuffed behind his back.

Despair and panic claw at his throat. His breath comes in shallow wheezes.

They drive around in circles, presumably waiting for the real target to come out in the open. Minutes pass. Ciel almost speaks, but rejects the idea. What is there to say?

'Let me go. I won't tell anyone.'? Who would believe that?

'If I disappear, there will be hell to pay.' They'd just think it was the scared begging of a powerless boy.

 _"Do you want power?"_ unbidden, Sebastian's voice comes to mind.

Ciel's lips part. "Sebastian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc...
> 
> Evil, right? XD
> 
> This is still light fiction. ♥ 
> 
> If you want darker, more serious Kuro, see my other fic, "What's in a name?" It is chalk full of seriousness...and plot. 
> 
> "The Devil's Dictionary" is a real book.(and quite clever, too...) of Cats During the Black Death" is not.


	3. Rescue

"There—there she is." The leader points at something out of Ciel's narrow field of vision. A girl in gothic clothing walking around in the rain, maybe? Or the same girl phoning someone, going about her day obliviously.

The van picks up speed, cutting another car off. The breaks screech, and again the door opens. Ciel screams, but the sidewalk is empty, after all. The girl is being pushed back by two men. Two more figures—bobbies, Ciel realizes—point guns at the men in the van.

Everyone is talking.

"Freeze! Get out of the vehicle—" Gruff, authoritative voices command.

"Move, move—" Panic, bluster.

"I'm ok, I'm ok." Fear, edging on hysterics. It's the girl, he thinks.

The voices mix with the sounds of tires spinning on asphalt, and with the ominous sound of the door lurching closed.

 _No._ Ciel's stomach falls.

The sound of sirens cuts through. There are more bobbies, after all. Horns blare.

"What the fuck!" the leader slams his hand on his door. "Turn, turn!"

But there are only so many streets so that even the few police cars limit their escape route. The van slows down to take a turn and something—a flash of black—slams into the windshield.

A familiar men's jacket is rumpled atop the windshield. The van swerves, and tires screech to a messy stop. There is a loud crunching noise, and Ciel is flung forward, the top of his head slamming against something hard in front of him. There is a second, quieter thud at the front of the van and the jacket is removed. Sebastian squats on the hood of the car, his black boots adding small dents to the weakened metal.

Ciel stares, still not fully comprehending the events unfolding around him.

"Open the door," someone commands.

From atop the hood of the car, Sebastian smiles pleasantly. "Do what the officer says before I invite myself in."

The leader is out cold, slumped in his seat. The two thugs in the back exchange glances, looking at Ciel meaningfully.

"You can't expect to walk out of this," Ciel snorts. "Whether or not you use me as a hostage, there's no way to get away." Ciel's stare is cruel and merciless even as blood drips down his face.

In the end, they open the doors, and the police help Ciel out of the van, escorting him to the station for details.

Sebastian watches him go with a cool, pleasant smile.

* * *

Later, when the police are finished with Ciel, he decides to wait for Sebastian to come out. Nearly a half hour later, the man finally emerges.

Ciel gives Sebastian a long look. "Let's have a cup of tea." He settles on, brushing past the stream of questions and suspicions in favor of preserving his reputation. _Not that there's anyone here except bobbies to see, and they don't even know my reputation._

Sebastian smirks, all at once compliant and smug. "As you wish. Why don't we go to my place? We can walk there from here."

Ciel nods, and follows mutely. He shivers in the cold. His head feels strangely empty, though he wonders if he should be remembering the event in excruciating detail. But all he thinks of is the surroundings. The fog that has settled around everything conceals everything but the closest houses and Sebastian's black jacket. So Ciel walks in a daze, turning when Sebastian turns, hardly looking at the details.

"Ciel?" Sebastian's expression is a parody of concern. Ciel is sure he's gloating behind his perfect facade. "Won't you come in?"

Ciel purses his lips, shaking his head sharply in attempt to wake up some. "Here?" He looks up, not sure what to expect. They're on a street not unlike any other—two tidy rows of houses partitioned into flats. Cars drive up and down the street intermediately, their lights streaming yellow paths through the fog.

He looks closer at the house. The outer doors are painted, there's a potted plant ornamenting the step, and it generally looks quite charming. Not exactly the sort of place he expected someone like Sebastian to live. Sebastian unlocks the outer door, and then pulls another key for his flat. They walk through the hall in silence.

Sebastian's flat is bare at first glance. There is a hat stand a few empty pegs on the burgundy wall, and a small, handsome bookcase out of the way.

Sebastian leads Ciel to the sitting room, gesturing for Ciel to take a seat. "Please have a seat." He pauses, a hint of his usual expression pulling at his lips. "Unless you'd care to learn to brew a proper pot of tea."

Ciel considers, but shakes his head. "Give me the short version when you're back with the tea." He wants to check the low table for magazines, to see if the shelf has anything of interest. Hints of Sebastian's porn business, maybe.

Sebastian nods, and retreats into the kitchen. It's not so very far from the sitting room, so Ciel begins his inspection quietly. No magazines on display, nothing under the sofa—that was clear from the moment he walked in.

The shelf has a few coffee-table books and a scattering of DVDs. The former mostly on cats, the latter BBC and National Geographic documentaries on culinary arts and, no surprise here, the middle ages and more cats.

Ciel is contemplating whether or not to search out Sebastian's bedroom—he's sure he'll find something there, and he can always claim to have been looking for the bathroom—when Sebastian returns with the tea. He carries a metal serving tray, two cups and saucers and an elegant china tea pot.

"Find anything of interest, Ciel?" He smiles knowingly. "Take a seat, and I'll tell you about tea." Not waiting for Ciel to sit, he begins his explanation. "Good tea starts with good water; I purify my tap water with hard charcoal. Of course, the quality of the tea is important too, but these days there are so many good sources."

"Brew lose leaf black tea for three minutes, green tea for two and white tea for one minute." Sebastian lifts his arm elegantly, pouring tea into the china cup in a thin stream from a few inches above. Something light and fruity wafts towards Ciel. "Using freshly boiled water is also important because the tea needs oxygen." He moves the tea in front of Ciel's seat.

"What kind of tea is it?" Ciel lifts the tea, enjoying the fragrance.

"Oolong tea with lychee from Taiwan. I also have chamomile and earl gray, if you prefer."

Ciel shakes his head. "Oolong tea? How interesting." He examines his cup, waiting for the self-proclaimed expert's advice on the color of well-prepared oolong tea. But Sebastian simply watches Ciel.

Ciel sips his tea and sets it on the saucer. "How did you know I was in that van?" He flicks his good eye up, having taken his contact out at the station.

Sebastian smiles easily and inclines his head as though humbly requesting indulgence. "I was following you, of course." He lifts his gaze, smiling that mocking smile again. "I also used your cell phone to track where they drove off to. It was most convenient that they came back—I doubt they would have appreciated my methods."

Ciel stares at Sebastian, considering his terrible luck. How did he manage to find someone who can manage to track him with his cell phone? Ciel snorts, incredulous."I don't know that I appreciate your methods. I never gave you my number."

 _Who can track someone using their cell phone?_ Ciel wonders, confused. All thoughts of porn business fading away. No, Sebastian might be too clever for something…mundane.

Sebastian nods, and stands. "No, you didn't. Would you care for something to eat? I have fruit and biscuits. I also have scones made this morning."

Ciel stares, his mouth working. "No thank you." He sips his tea, trying to gather his wits and restrain his temper. The tea cup clatters as he sets it down. "Why were you following me, and how did you track the van with my phone?"

Sebastian's shoes click against the wooden floor to stand next to Ciel. He leans in, and gently brushes Ciel's cheek. "I was going to invite you for dinner."

Ciel shoves the hand away. "I barely know you." His tone is scathing.

Sebastian smiles. "I suppose you don't. My earlier offer still stands…there are many things you could gain by working with me."

"Work with you?"

Sebastian considers Ciel, his eyes betraying nothing. "Associating with me," he amends. "I'm not an amateur porn director, Phantomhive. I'm attending a cookery school while keeping a part time job. I work with an online security company…securing files for companies, securing their privacy in account books, that sort of thing."

"Culinary school?" Ciel sputters.

"Indeed. I specialize in Modern British foods."

I don't know that I'd trust that to a cell phone stalker."

Sebastian actually laughs. "Let me assure you that my dishes are without peer." Humor licks his lips. "Oh, is it the web security that bothers you?"

Ciel resists the urge to fidget. He sets the cup carefully in its sauce and smiles thinly. "What do you mean?" He tries to laugh, but it sounds rather like a dry cough.

"You showed signs of distress. Shallow breath, dilated pupils. A nervous tremor and…hm, spasming, shall we say? Fingers." Sebastian stands, taking a step away from Ciel. "Need I continue?"

Ciel, feeling like a toad trapped in shallow water, frowns into his cup. It really is nice tea, and that's part of what bothers him. Sebastian is far too clever. He attempts to school his expression, but his sullen, confused, and relieved feelings leave him pouting. He decides to ignore Sebastian's forward observations.

"Then I will have to sample your studies. We'll see about the rest later."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Bring me something to eat." Ciel demands.

With a bow more suited to a serving man, Sebastian hides his growing smile. "But of course." He sounds as smooth as cream.

Ciel watches Sebastian leave the table. The bratty side of him is already thinking of games to play with the older man. He could leave. Not just the room, but his flat altogether. Let the man guess if he was serious or not.

He could call his parents. He _would_ call Sebastian's work, but he doubted this would get good results. Maybe another police report.

He could order the man about, treat him like a personal slave. But what reason would Sebastian have to listen?

He could lead him on only to cut the dangling thread. He could paint the man's body _red_ with desire, and laugh in his face.

Sebastian returns with the tray of sweets he'd mentioned earlier. The scone looks simple enough, but the fruit isn't just fruit. It's a fruit tart, cut, glazed, and arranged daintily over a puff of white cream. The biscuits were dainty little confection paw prints, and some other shapes.

"….what." Ciel deadpans.

Sebastian smiles. "Does it reach your expectations?"

Ciel glowers. "I thought you said you were studying." He accuses.

"So angry…" Sebastian near croons.

"Did you apprentice or something?" he demands.

Sebastian ignores him. "The biscuits are a modified butter cookie." He picks up one in a gloved hand. One is shaped like a poised cat, another like a crown, and Ciel spies one odd penguin. "I took the liberty of creating my own cutters, and mixed in—"

"Whatever." Ciel interrupts. He nods at the tart. "You said fruit. That's a _tart._ " He finally finds something to criticize, and does so with relish. "The caramel drip has spilled over. Also, the entire tray is too full to be aesthetically pleasing. Get another one, or limit your choices verbally before bringing it here." He sniffs. "Tea time is past, you know."

Sebastian's careful expression freezes.

Ciel thinks, _I've got him._ Without a solid reason, he's extraordinarily pleased with himself.

"I doubt you had anything filling at the Reaper's place." Sebastian replies in as calm a voice he can manage. It's not half bad.

Ciel pokes the scone with one finger. He nearly sneers. "Looks all right, but you've left it out all day, haven't you? Lacks the proper texture."

"Why don't I make a light supper?"

Ciel grins slowly. "Make it fit for a lord."

"Of course." Sebastian keeps his thoughts of _you brat,_ to himself.

Ciel surprises them both by standing abruptly. "Yes, well. It'd best be a picnic." He says languidly, still half thinking through his plan as he speaks. "And bring it to me."

Sebastian's eyes glitter. "And where shall the young master be?"

Smirking, Ciel shakes his head. "We'll see if you were lying, Sebastian." He proclaims regally.

Sebastian's tongue is near red in the light. "That might be unwise…" he murmurs, but his eyes are mocking.

"Oh?"

"You've only just escaped captivity," Sebastian remarks in false lament.

"You're not going to abduct me and make sketchy videos of demon sex or anything." Ciel quips. "So what's there to be afraid of?"

Sebastian laughs. As before, his shoulders shake with it, and his fingers, too. "My," he gasps. His lips tremble with laughter. Slowly, he composes himself. "But don't you like to play hard to get?"

Those hands, Ciel thinks loosely, ought to have been artist's hands. But watching Sebastian's expression, he thinks that _perhaps_ he is. An artist, that is. _of…deeds. Of the world._ As foolish and old fashioned as it sounds to a modern teen.

It's true, though. Sebastian forms a world around him that Ciel has never seen. And perhaps never will elsewhere.

He picks up his things and dusts his trousers. On the table, he's left a white card with an ink drawing on one side.

Sebastian smiles. The boy's left again. He'll make quite the chase. He picks up a cat shaped cookie and snaps it in half.

Ah, but won't it be a delightful night.

* * *

o0o0o0o0o0o0


	4. Dinner and Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel finds out a few things. Al seems well..

The cold evening air is uncomfortable after all the rain, and it’s already dark, but Ciel waits in the covered gazebo like a little prince. He leans against the ornamental frame, imagining more grand (and warmer) surroundings.

Ciel’s phone rings. It’s his mother.

“Hello?”

“Ciel…I heard about the incident…” her voice is breathey. Like she’s only just stopped running a marathon, when really she’s only ventured the stairs. “You didn’t wait.” She says slowly, halfway between accusatory and concerned. “We were to pick you up from the station. Into our care, you know.”

Ciel sighs. “I did wait. And I’m old enough…they released me to Dad. Didn’t you know?” He lied. In reality, there’d been no contact with either parent. Instead, Ciel had manipulated the police and their pity for him (not to mention their trust in his father) to release him from their protective custody with only a phone-call, some cunning timing, and a lot of dumb luck. So long as he wasn’t being charged, Ciel figured it didn’t matter either way; he only wanted to see Sebastian.

“Did you call the station?” he asks, hoping she didn’t.

“No, I went there. They said you’d already been picked up…so I went home, and you weren’t here.” Her voice is thin. She seems fragile, but sharply concerned. “Where are you?”

Shaking his head, Ciel shrugs. “Um. I’m at a friend’s house. Soma’s. I wanted to relax…” he shifts uncomfortably. “I’ll be back soon. Give me another hour or two.”

The answering silence is painful. “I suppose…” she says reluctantly, and Ciel wonders what she’s been doing. Working on a plush design all afternoon until someone called, checking their address? Rushing over, only to find Ciel wasn’t there. She must have felt quite the fool, and yet here she was, talking quietly instead of those snide remarks her sister might have employed.

“Listen, mum. I’ll be back. Lemme eat dinner, and then I’ll come home, ok?”

She sighs. “When you get home, we need to talk.” She says firmly. “If you’re in trouble, you know you can call me…”

Feeling all too annoyed at her concern, Ciel breathes sharply. “Yeah, coming!” he says, as if in answer to a question nobody answered. “Listen, mum, gotta run. See you soon.” And then he hangs up.

Sitting in the cool, damp gazebo, he can hear his heart pounding and anxiety tearing at his chest. But his curiosity has the best of him, and like the boy and the Jabberwocky, he thought a while before the beast came upon him.

Sebastian appears like a dark winged bird, stark against the dim lighting of the street lamp. He steps lightly into the gazebo, bearing a large picnic basket. “Romantic choice.” He murmurs, his eyes flicking across the structure. Offhandedly, he adds, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Ciel looks at the young man clad in black and wonders if his little test really proves anything. True, Sebastian had to stay behind to cook, but if he was working with his kidnappers—or a rival group—he might have had someone else follow. But Sebastian only smiles coolly, irritatingly unrushed and unbothered.

“Would you prefer to dine here, or find someplace more warm?” Faint spots on his jacket suggest that the rain has begun to pick up.

Ciel nods slowly considering. There’s just a hint of delicious smells lingering about Sebastian himself, or maybe the basket lid opened just a bit. That decides it. “Someplace warm…but someplace _public._ ” He lifts his chin and lazily draws nearer.

Sebastian nods and steps back into the rain, unfolding a large black umbrella.

Sebastian takes Ciel to a small Chinese restaurant. The outside is unremarkable, but the inside is like the lounge of some exotic prince. Dark-stained wooden screens hide the bulk of diners. A beautifully dressed young man makes eye contact with both Sebastian and Ciel.

“Good evening. How many in your party?”

Ciel is almost surprised at the man’s London accent. The clothes and the atmosphere paint a picture fit for another time.

“Good evening, Yusuke. Is Lau in?”

Just then, a striking woman—in a costume that looks just enough like a blue butterfly to forgive her abundant cleavage—steps into their line of vision. She cocks her head and steps away, silent and graceful. Sebastian gives a polite nod to the other employee, and follows.

They’re led not to some back room or kitchen but to a wing of tables and flimsy curtains.

“Hello Sebastian.” A man Ciel presumes to be Lau drolls. “You here for that?”

Sebastian brings his hand to his chest, some sign of deference, if a bit fresh. “If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother, sir. Just for an hour or so.” Sebastian smiles and arches an eyebrow.

Ciel looks at the private tables and assumes that they must be discussing the use of one of those. He nods. “Out of the way would be best.”

Lau nods graciously. “Be my guest.” He smiles and then cocks his head, a matched picture to the woman. “And what are we talking about?”

“A table. Some place for the young master to sample my culinary endevours.”

“Ohhh.” Lau nods. “I suppose. Does this mean you’ve reconsidered an apprenticing position here?” His smile is as slow and relaxed as before, though his tone is light and teasing.

“I will consider it.” Sebastian says, his own voice indifferent. Ciel suspects as soon as the words are out of Sebastian’s mouth that he doesn’t mean it. This decorative, sensual lair doesn’t suit Sebastian’s esthetics.

The idea that something supernatural, something dark and manipulative lurks behind those eyes flits back to mind, but is dismissed just as quickly. As strange as a regular like Will and Grell might be not everyone who visits the store can be a _demon._ Ciel idly wonders why that word came to mind, and redirects his attention.

“—might be to your taste. But all is well. You owe me, Michaelis. You don’t get a private table for nothing.”

“Of course,” Sebastian continues smiling. His teeth flash for an instant, and Ciel shivers.

“Good evening, Michaelis. Perhaps I’ll stop by again later. Musn’t let your little picnic get cold.” Lau raises his arms in some manner of a shrug and walks, seemingly at random, away.

The silent woman from before gestures for Ciel to follow and leads them to a table. She jerks a painted thumb nail over a shoulder. “Sit.” She says, that one syllable sensual but demanding. She looks to the picnic basket and then meets Sebastian’s eyes. Ciel wonders what she’s thinking. Does she not speak English well, or is it part of her job here? Be silent and beautiful before the guests.

“Thank you Ran-Mao.” Sebastian says, amused at Ciel’s rapt attention. The boys eyes the tables and the room with suspicion and distrust nearly equal to his own. Who knew the young could be so jaded? And so early.

“I’m afraid most of the dishes have cooled,” he begins, redirecting Ciel’s attention to the _food_ , where it should be. “But I hope it suits your tastes.”

Of course, the soup is not so cold, as he put it into a thermos container. He lifts the covered bowl and removes the lid before placing it in front of Ciel. “Go ahead.”

“You’re not having any?” Alarm makes Ciel’s voice a sharp challenge. “How am I supposed to know you haven’t drugged it?” Once again suspicion narrows his single visible eye.

Sebastian chuckles. “Would the young lord prefer me to sample his food? That should prove it drug free.” Sebastian chooses the desert spoon for tasting. He considers pressing the tiny spoon to Ciel’s pouting lips, but in the end, he sets it aside and begins to unpack the meal.

The soup is a light affair, teasing the senses with light scents. There are vegetables decorating the bottom of the bowl, and Ciel can tell it was meant to be a nice appetizer.

“Why are you studying culinary arts?” Ciel asks qietly, warming his hands on the china bowl Sebastian had served him.

Sebastian looks up at Ciel. “Boredom…” he trails off. “And a love of fine dining, I expect.” With his gloved hands folded neatly, he looks alert.

Ciel nods and remarks, “Usually soups are served only when there’s a wait….for whatever the main dish is. Without that time, don’t you think my stomach will cramp?” he sniffs.

“But my,” Sebastian teases. “What a small appetite you must have…” he clears his throat, “to say such things.”

Ciel ignores the remark. “I want the main dish. What is it?”

Sebastian bows away from the table, removing the next part of the meal from the containers and setting it on a fresh plate. His hands are swift, and soon he has it before Ciel.

“Devon lamb steak, braised over seven hours, seasoned with rosemary, thyme, and oregano...the pomme sauce accents the natural flavor most excellently.” He sets it down without so-much-as a flourish. This time, Ciel notes, there is no overspill of sauce, and the blanace is picture-perfect with a side of vegetables.“The sautéd greens and baby turnips will further balance your meal.”

Ciel eyes it, looking for something to complain about. “And desert?”

“For desert, we have elderflower jelly with rosewater ice cream…” Sebastian says slyly.

Ciel stares. “Ice cream?”

Sebastian smirks. “I have my ways.”

He pauses slightly. “Lamb is an especially good source of protein for growing boys. There’s an excellent amount of B12, B6, Vitamin A, iron, zinc, and other minerals. Incidentally,” he adds, leaning in just enough to show off a slight—if sensual—lick of his lips. “the dietary intake of such minerals leads to higher levels of energy and plays a role in sexual growth and function.”

Ceil stops admiring the meal to frown at his host. “You’re telling me it’s an aphrodisiac?” he raises an eyebrow.

Sebastian smiles. “Have a bite.”

Ciel takes a careful mouthful, trying not to look uncouth—or as though he cared enough to do so. He closes his eyes. The meat itself moist, full-bodied with Sebastian’s flavorings, and soft. Quite tender and succulent.

“Oh.” He says, surprised. He hadn’t meant to say anything, but the combined flavor and texture is enough to make him lick his lips, and practically sigh for more. He takes another bite, chews languidly, and decides not to say anything else.

Sebastian smirks at him as he eats. “And what of yourself, Ciel? What do you plan to do in the future?”

Ciel pauses long enough to look Sebastian in the eye. “I suppose I’ll be studying for the time being.”

“And your family company?”

Ciel’s lips thin. “What of it?”

Sebastian continues with a quiet, reserved stare.

“I might...” he trails off. “Let me finish in peace.” He snaps suddenly, and resolutely returns to his meal.

“You ought to put your faith in me, Ciel.” Sebastian remarks. His deep burgundy eyes shine like pools of blood.

“I...” Ciel stops. Shakes his head. “Shove it. I still think you’re suspicious.”

Sebastian’s hair conceals his face a bit, making him seem too skinny. Almost hollow. “I suppose you’re just looking at me as a servant...” he straightens. “I’ll be a first class butler for you then.”

Ciel eats his lamb. He folds his hands just as he’s seen his father do, and shrugs. “You haven’t the necessary skills.” He actually _had_ a butler once. When he was little, and the family business was doing better. Then things had changed.

“I’m one hell of a butler, actually.” Sebastian remarks.

Ciel rolls his eyes. “So let’s drop it.” He suggests.

Sebastian cooly watches Ciel finish, and wonders. _How long?_ before the little thing falls into his hands.

Instead, he asks; “More carrots?”


	5. Behind closed doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Undertaker manages to get Gregory curious. And then reveals one of Sebastian's secrets Sebastian probably doesn't want Ciel to know ~~yet~~.

Undertaker hmms. He seems able to take any situation in stride, complete with a mad-hatter-esque grin. His whole existence revolves around strange aspects of humor, though few can actually understand it.

Currently, he looks at the boy from a downward slant, his head tilted into his thick hair, casting his features in shadow. “Won’t you be having some tea?”

Gregory nods vaguely. He’s not an uncommon visitor to the shop. New into university, and taking more art classes than a supposed business major would need, he comes from time to time. But he doesn’t come to the store for school.

He settles himself on the ornamental bench. He has something in a to-go cup, and his sketchbook is half out of his bag. His gaze drifts lazily to meet the Undertaker’s. He motions with his chin. “I’ve been helped.”

The Undertaker smiles broadly. “What are you drawing, hm?” he stretches a hand to trace Gregory’s shoulder. “Well?”

Gregory shakes his head resolutely. “It’s not finished.” And he adds a few more.

The Undertaker makes a noise like understanding and drapes himself over the bench. He’s somehow blocking the plants and not quite sitting. “Well, tell me about your intent.” He sniggers. “I hope it’s amusing….”

The boy who’s nearly a man doesn’t say anything. He stares at the page before letting a tight, almost cruel smile twist his lips. “I’m drawing your death.” He pronounces dramatically.

Undertaker laughs. “Oh? That?”

With a subtle relaxing of his features, Gregory shrugs. “No, not really.” But he pulls the pages less closely.

The Undertaker waits. “Tell me about your day.”

The young artist stares. “Nothing much to tell.” He licks his lips.

With a shrug, the Undertaker withdraws. “Ah.” He coughs gently, perhaps disguising his glee. “Is that it? Well, how is your coffee?”

The young man “mms,” half aware. “OK.”

Leaning against the wall in perfect profile, the Undertaker trails a finger against the high part of the bench. “I suppose Ciel’s brewing skills may have been affected…” he drawls. “Since the abduction.” Trying to sound natural and failing utterly.

As expected, Gregory starts. “Hm?” He looks up at the oddly serious Undertaker. His usual mirth is under a layer of cool composure. Like this, the Undertaker is unreadable. “Abducted?”

“Kidnapped. Albeit for a short period of time.” He meets Gregory’s gaze. “One would think he’d be withdrawn. Jittery.” He looks at Gregory appraisingly. “But I suppose nothing has come of it…”

Gregory turns his owlish stare at the Undertaker’s nose. Then his lips. _Is this a joke? Ciel? Kidnapped?_

“Why?”

“I would guess,” he hazards, “It’s because Sebastian got there quickly, and probably convinced Ciel he was in no trouble all along…still strange though.” He sniggers again. “I thought he’d at least sulk. Or snap at everyone.”

Gregory, who was of the opinion that Ciel always sulked, considers this statement. He supposes, _He might be lording something over the rest of us most of the time._

Picking up his pencil, he stares at it. “I meant why was he kidnapped.” He settles. “And why he’s at work afterward.”

The Undertaker shrugs. “Oh. I don’t know.” He plops himself on the bench.

The two sit in silence for a time. The artist stares at his sketch, and the Undertaker watches idly. At last, the young man looks at the other.

“…you haven’t asked for a joke.”

The Undertaker shakes his head. “I haven’t.” He agrees.

Gregory sighs and tucks his supplies away. “I’ll go talk to Ciel…” he mutters, though his irritation is clear on his face.

Inside, Ciel sits at one of the small tables. His pale hands tap on the dark wood, and his face is cast in shadow. At that moment, Ciel is as tempting a subject to draw as any Gregory has seen.

“Ciel,” Gregory frowns. He leans in on the boy, but thinks better of it. As a result, he stands slightly to the side, hanging back just a little. He frowns as Ciel slowly meets his gaze. _That_ kind of masterpiece wouldn’t do. Ciel and he would have to do better…

“You…want to…” _want to what?_ He thinks to himself irritably. _Talk?_ He scowls to himself.

Ciel eyes him. “Is your latte not to your liking?” His frown is delicate, but his eyes slip away.

Ah. Gregory almost smiles. So maybe fearsome, strong Phantomhive’s defenses are breakable.

“No. It’s fine.” Gregory smiles thinly. It only barely disguises his lingering irritation. “The little boy has his doubts, then?”

Ciel scowls now.

 _Where did that come from?_ Gregory sighs. He isn’t very good at this. Wordlessly, he takes a sheet from his pad and flicks a piece of willowy charcoal at the boy. It cracks into two pieces.

Ciel continues staring. “What?” he doesn’t pick it up.

“It’s very light-weight.” Gregory explains. “Less heavy than the standard blocks…it’s called Willow Charcoal, similar to Vine Charcoal. Easier to fathom for beginners.” The words come easily, and he finally sits down. “Gesture drawings and the like.”

Ciel tilts his head. “Thank you.” He doesn’t move, and this irritates Gregory. “Why?”

“Art is a release.” He indicates the sketch pad.

“From what?” his lips quirk sardonically. “From nightmares?” the boy offers his mocking smile, and it’s as though all the irony and discontent have merged to the left tilt. Wry, yet still dignified. The boy is a mystery, truly.

Gregory thinks, _surely he hasn’t gained anything from the encounter…only lost something. His sense of freedom or safety perhaps. But he’s acting all wrong._ Ciel’s chin is high.

Gregory likes to imagine himself a good judge of character. But Ciel…might be mad enough to call truly…creative. Gregory trades smiles with the little brat.

From behind, the Undertaker laughs. “Well. Isn’t that nice?” he grins. “Take up the charcoal…try for a sketch of your…mm, desire.” As though this is the most hilarious idea yet, he hides his mouth behind his hands. Then he slinks off again to the side of the shop.

Gregory stares after him. The Undertaker does like to make an exit.

“You heard about it?” Ciel guesses.

“Quite.”

“Then maybe you think you’re being _kind_ and helping me. Lending me an ear.” His lips quirk again.

Gregory shifts, an expression of discomfort and fury mixing. He doesn’t care for being played with, but that’s all Ciel ever does.

“I have things on my mind.” Ciel says dismissively. “So unless it’s about your latte?” His eyes are hard. “I’ll just keep thinking my own thoughts. Alone.”

Embarrassment and pity mingle in Gregory’s mind. _There’s got to be something._ (uncomfortable and probably embarrassing) that might make Ciel open up. If only he could think of it. An excuse, maybe?

But Gregory doesn’t have to do this…and though he couldn’t think of what to say seconds before, that realization is just what he needs to speak up.

“Go on and fight the Jabberwock on your own, then.” He tosses his hair back. “I’ll weave your burial shroud once you’ve finished.”

Ciel raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment.

Gregory walks out and resumes sitting on the bench, leaving Ciel not quite staring in his wake.

Ciel huffs. The bookshop gets the strangest customers.

* * * * * * * * * * 

* * *

Ciel finishes buffing the coffee bar for the third time, hating the unusually bad weather and the lack of customers. Undertaker is doing something on the other side of the store, crooning some lullaby in the dim light.

The shop seems darker than usual, more full of cobwebs and dust. Ciel considers dusting, maybe even vacuuming. With a sigh, he settles onto a stool, and stares at the door, willing someone to come in. Sebastian, maybe.

Sebastian…Ciel frowns, unable to get the man out of his head. _Was he telling the truth? Does he really not know the kidnappers?_ The thought gives him pause. Then of course there was Ciel’s unease with the man-- the sense he isn’t completely natural. But then, he did come to the Undertaker’s bookstore. _And most customers,_ he paused, thinking of Gregory, _are rather strange._

Undertaker mentioned someone helping him start listing some of his books online… could Sebastian be that associate? Ciel examines the email screen and does a quick search for “Sebastian Michaelis.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

* * *

“Sebastian _is_ some kind of hacker, isn’t he?” Ciel confronts the Undertaker, hands on his hips. “You know about that, right? He asked to use your _old_ shop name. Probably to fake the credentials of a _real_ online security company.”

“Really?” Undertaker gives Ciel a watery smile, apparently clueless. He barely suppresses a giggle.

“Well? Isn’t he?”

“Information like that will cost you, Phantomhive.”

“Will it now?” He asks sweetly. “I suppose we’re not talking about favors anymore, are we?”

“Insouciant boy.” Undertaker teases, but there’s no weight to it. “…if you know a good one, proceed.”

Ciel hesitates. The _last_ time he had to tell a joke to make Undertaker laugh, he was trying for half an hour or more. In the end, Undertaker only giggled at Ciel’s discomfort and frustration, then set him to manning the coffee bar wearing “Victorian” clothing for a few days. These shorts and an old fashioned blazer one day, and Charles Dickens’ famed ‘orphan boy’ the next.

“Isn’t there something faster?”

“Still out of jokes from the last time?” Undertaker croons. “Well then. You want to put it off. How about you have a little chat with Aleister in the shop? That man is top notch entertainment. Of course, I’d like you to wear something new. Pink, maybe.”

Ciel scowls. “Aleister? Who—why would you want pink?”

“How about a deal then. You put down a nice little down-payment.” Undertaker claps his hands, and allows his features to relax into his placid cat expression. “I dress you in a nice costume, we take a few snapshots, and I show Aleister Chambers, viscount of Druitt. If he’s interested, you two have a little chat in the café.”

“It’s a _simple_ question.” Ciel complains.

“The answer is more complicated than that. Would you like a cookie as well?” He draws out the vowels, sounding as though he were half singing. “I’ll give you an address, you learn about Sebastian Michaelis. Life becomes interesting around here for a while.”

Ciel doesn’t doubt that. Anything the Undertaker suggests is certainly ‘interesting.’ He chews his lip, all the while resenting the fact that the Undertaker couldn’t seem to be persuaded to do anything that he didn’t already want to do.

“…do you have a costume like that? Here?”

“In fact I do. You don’t seem to have grown much,” he tuts, and strokes Ciel’s hair. “But it does make it easy to guess your size.”

The dress, as it turned out, is neither a dress nor pink, but a blue tunic. It has a loose fit and lots of layers. Definitely along the lines of lolita fashion, but with pumpkin shorts instead of a ridiculously voluminous skirt. He doesn’t know if he should feel better about that.

Ciel sighs, and begins to take off his clothes.

“Ciel, don’t forget the corset. And the padded bra.” Undertaker giggles from outside the staff bathroom.

“Sure.” Ciel mutters, but hides the offending undergarments underneath his own clothes in the corner. The dress is loose enough that nobody would be able to see the fake boobs anyways, right?

“Just darling. How about we wrap some bandages around your face? You’ll be so alluring.”

“Are those sterile?” Ciel eyes the Undertaker, who weaves said bandages between his fingers, almost like he were playing a game of cat's cradle.

“Mmmm,” he says, noncommittal.

“I don’t want them near my eye.” Knowing the Undertaker, they are probably authentic Victorian bandages. Possibly used bandages.

“But it’d be fun. Give it a try?”

“You said a pink dress, and maybe a conversation. Nothing about possibly infecting my eye with embalming-fluid-soaked-bandages.”

Undertaker snorts, and then giggles. His shoulders bounce with laughter. “Don’t be silly,” he rasps. “There’s no embalming fluid. It’s just bandages from Boots,” he names a chain pharmacy.

“Still. No.”

“You don’t think it’s part of the costume?” He chews a long, black fingernail.

“No.” Ciel prays that the Undertaker doesn’t press the point.

Undertaker holds up an antique looking camera which flashes a bright light at Ciel. He blinks, and feels himself pulled over to an overstuffed armchair among the towers of bookshelves. Still seeing spots, he almost doesn’t notice Undertaker snapping a second picture with his cell phone.

He suffers through this in silence, his expression somewhere between impatience and sulky embarrassment.

“Nice doing business with you, Phantomhive. The address is on the bar. Go there, if you want.” And just like that, he is off to lurk in some dark corner of the store.

 

*****

 _This is it?_ The building is hidden next to a laundromat and a fast food restaurant, snuggled between the backs of two other, bigger buildings. The street sign is right, but he nearly misses the door, mistaking it for a side door of what could be an office building.

Ciel might have kept looking at the building, wondering how to get in if it weren’t for the door opening in front of him. Music doesn’t so much as pulse from the establishment as leak out when a couple leaves.

He suspects this is one of the places where he ought to be stopped at the door, carded, turned away, and then come up with another way to get in. So for now, he simply observes. Ciel sees through the opening, and what’s there surprises him. It’s an ordinary...waiting room? Like one might find in a doctor’s office. There’s another door with....handcuffs... hanging on a peg.

... _what?_

When who should come round the corner than one smartly dressed Sebastian Michaelis? He’s leading a young woman by the arm and gives a well-mannered bow. “Do pay us another call...” he smiles slightly. “You know I won’t forgive a slight to my invitation.”

The woman—though by her behavior, is more like a girl than an adult – is flushed. She doesn’t meet his eyes, but offers a tremulous smile. “Of course, Mister Sebastian.” And here she does something odd, parting her lips a little and lifting her chin up. She’s bearing her throat-- almost how a dog might to its pack leader.

Sebastian notices Ciel watching through the open door. And smiles.

 _the House of Thorns_ is lettered in neat white, inconspicuously placed by the window. It seems an innocent enough name, but that display...

 

Ciel’s breath catches in his throat. Sebastian looks Ciel up and down, still smiling. He gives the girl one last glance before she scuttles away, muttering something under her breath.

Sebastian steps out of the club, and Ciel realizes he’s wearing stiletto heels and his nails are painted black. “Well, well. Good evening, Mister Phantomhive.” He tilts his head, as though considering the boy. “Ciel.”

The door opens again. “Sebastian, the party in room three requested a spanking.”

Ciel swallows hard, eying the man just inside the door. Sebastian himself has semi-formal clothes, but this man’s outfit is gaudy in the worst way. It dawns on him that this club might be very low class. And Sebastian might be little more than a…

“Are you a stripper?” The words slip out of Ciel’s mouth.

The man snorts. “He’s the only male house dome. He doesn’t strip—he makes other people do that, and then spanks them.”

“Only if they need to be punished. Otherwise, I’m a perfect gentleman.” Sebastian is coldly amused, but something in his posture—a tenseness in his upper body—suggests he realizes he’s lost some of his standing with Ciel.

“I can’t believe you. Are you anything you say you are?” Ciel accuses, scorn coloring his words.

Sebastian cocks his head. “Of course I am. I’m all of those things.” He taps a heel. “It’s foolish of you to think I can be one and not the other.” 

_Is it sign of impatience or frustration?_ Ciel wonders.

Sebastian casts one last look at the prideful young man, looking both shocked and personally offended by Sebastian’s relationship to the fetish club. Already, Sebastian considers the benefits and potential problems with his counter plans.

Sebastian _isn’t_ pleased with this turn of events—it’s like a game where he is suddenly on the verge of losing because of his own mistake rather than any particular brilliant move on Ciel’s part. He’d rather wanted to delay Phantomhive’s knowledge of this part time gig until he could bring it up. Slowly. With a touch of power play and dry humor, rather than have Ciel control the entire next game because of his negligence.

So he walks down the stairs and leaves the boy staring after him.

 

 _Not won over yet._ Sebastian tells himself.

Not yet.


	6. An Eventful Afternoon in the Bookshop.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel works in the bookshop, confronting Undertaker and Sebastian while one Aleister Chambers of Druitt comes for tea. 
> 
> Sebastian can't stand back and watch...

 “He’s a dominatrix!” Ciel storms into the bookshop without so much as a glance to see if there are any customers he might be disturbing. After last night’s trials, he _almost_ decided to play truant, but then he wouldn’t get answers.  
         
“Ciel, I’m afraid that word refers to female dominators.” Undertaker sips his bone china cup, watching Ciel from a curtain of pale fringe.   
         
“Stuff it.” Ciel grumbles. He pulls at his apron strings with more force than strictly necessary. It takes him two goes to tie it on properly. But surprise and his dislike of being out maneuvered make Ciel talkative. “He’s a pervert.” Ciel insists. “And you knew it!”  
         
Undertaker carefully takes a book by the corner, gripping it between two nails. The display taking up one of the cafe tables is something like a house of cards, except that it's made from glossy red and green books.

        
“Hmm?” Undertaker makes as though to question, ignoring Ciel’s accusation.   
         
Ciel composes his expression. “Undertaker. Sebastian is a pervert, and you’re employing him for the website.” He leans in a little, using the Undertaker’s awkward, bent over position to his advantage. Despite his proximity, though, Undertaker is hardly perturbed at the invasion of personal space. “Explain.”  
      

Undertaker adjusts a book slightly. “About the website?”   
         
“About Sebastian.”  
         
“I’d call him a wight. Or maybe a demon....” he snickers. “But don’t get me wrong…he is as human as they come.”  
      

“In what sense of the word?” Ciel asks.  
         
“Sentient? But difficult to trust.”  Undertaker smiles a little. “About that display…your shift ends at noon today, so after the morning rush, could you make an edible display? Something festive. I have some chocolates and sugar things for you to use…”  
      

Ciel sighs, but nods his assent. The shop will open in twenty minutes, and there are still things to do before the first coffee rush begins.  
         
     

~~~~

  
The display in the glass case looks finished by his eye. Some of the sweets are famous icons like a skull with a Santa hat, and others are just  simple biscuits decorated with marks of the arcane baked into the sugar. Undertaker seems to give special  precedence to the ones with gobs of icing.  
         
Ciel sprinkles a few coffee beans at the foot of the monstrosity, and adds one of the coffee shops cups for good measure. Ciel considers the mound of chocolate and cake toppers neatly lined up in a white box, and decides that they can go on the shelf designated as merchandise.   
         
The door jingles open, and he looks up to gauge if the customer is there for books or refreshments. _Or maybe just to slink in and try and explain._ Ciel considers the tall, thin man smiling in the doorway. That smile is more predatory than friendly, he decides.   
         
Sebastian’s leather shoes click against the hardwood floor, his gate as smooth as a hunting cat. He stops just before the glass case and examines Ciel’s work. He says nothing, merely raising an eyebrow. He gives another cool smile and walks behind the counter to join Ciel.   
         
Ciel opens his mouth to tell him off, but decides that Sebastian probably wouldn’t listen. He doesn’t say anything to Sebastian putting on thin plastic gloves, and pretends not to notice those long, pale hands rearranging the display he thought was good enough.  
      

The door jingles again, letting in university students laden with laptops and reams of notes. They both order lattés and cucumber sandwiches, so Ciel doesn’t have to pretend to be busy in order to ignore Sebastian.  
         
He’s about ready to start a load of dishes when a third student comes in. She makes a beeline to the other girls, and sets her things down before going to the counter. She glances at the glass case, and then smiles at Ciel, wrinkling her nose and fluttering her eyebrows in a way she probably thinks is cute. “Cool display.”  
         
Ciel nods vaguely, and sets about making a third latte. Curious now, Ciel steals a glance at the bottom shelf.   
         
“What's this?" He blinks. The display is now different from what he'd designed. It is nothing short of modern art.  
        
The array  of colors leads the eye around the composition, and the sweets look more appetizing than  ever  before. Instead of Undertaker’s Mad Hatter-inspired sloppiness, Sebastian has managed to reconstruct the messy biscuits into intentionally diagonal lines of food. He changed it from sloppy to artistic with exaggerated drips, and other clever arrangements to hide flaws. It is now  a kind of confectionary art, and Ciel just barely recognizes pieces from the box he’d been supplied with.  
      

Ciel opens his mouth. "Who said you could touch the display?"  
      

“You didn’t say I couldn’t. You were busy, anyway. Don’t you need a second person behind the bar from time to time?” Sebastian shrugs and removes one plastic glove after another, his eyes never leaving Ciel. “It was my pleasure to serve you.”  
        
Ciel nearly chokes.   
        
“Chai, please.” Sebastian smiles.  
         
 Ciel’s lips thin, and he nods.   
      

“Sorry to interrupt this tension-filled reunion, but your date will be here soon, Ciel. Do you want to change into something nice? That was part of the agreement, wasn’t it? Pink.”  
         
Ciel snaps his mouth shut, his shoulders tensing at the thought. Certain that he’s blushing to the roots of his hair; he doesn’t spare Sebastian another glance.  
         
“Just a minute,” he stalls. “I’ll put on another pot of coffee…” and he turns away from the both of them.   
         
“It’s "£1.20, isn’t it?”  
         
“For what?” Ciel asks, distracted.   
         
“The Chai.”   
         
Ciel bites his lip. He’d quite forgotten about that, and Sebastian only just said it. “Yes, of course.” He adjusts his routine a little to get the beverage ready, precisely following the recipe Agni and Soma made sure he used. Sebastian, like always, watches him intently.  
         
“It is quite delightful watching your little science experiments,” Sebastian drawls, “but you could honestly use a few one-on-one lessons, young sir.”  
         
“Young sir?” Ciel inserts as much venom as would be permissible at his workplace. Nevertheless, the tone might be a bit heavier than the customers want to hear. He’s supposed to be sweet, charming, and…helpful, after all.   
         
“To make tea.”  
         
“I heard you. What is this supposed to be, a pick up line?” He lifts his chin. “I’m not your—”  
         
“Don’t misunderstand me, Phantomhive…” Sebastian’s voice is low and seductive, something Ciel can’t help but notice. “We simply ought to spend more time together.”  
         
“You mean…hang out? Why? We’re not friends.”  
         
“But couldn’t we be?” Sebastian hides his smirk behind his fringe. Ciel can practically hear the cliché, _and so much more,_ tacked on to that.   
      

“Bugger off already. I’m busy.” He hands the cup of tea to Sebastian, and moves off in the direction of the back room.  
      

“If you’re leaving the café,” Sebastian purrs, “perhaps I can be of assistance. I could, for instance, take care of customers who wish for professionally brewed tea or lattes.”   
      

“Take it up with Undertaker. He’s the one who scheduled the chat,” Ciel mutters.   
         
“Believe me, Ciel. I will.”   
         
Ciel heads out of earshot, skin still flushed pink.   
       

~~~~

  
         
In the staff room, Undertaker presents Ciel with the dress. “How nice. Sebastian can see you look darling as well.” He titters. “Didn’t he offer to “hang out” and be friends?” He summarizes the conversation neatly, and presses one black nail to his lips. “I think he means he’ll “serve you” well enough.” Small, pearly teeth peek out from behind those thin lips.  
         
Ciel snorts. “Whatever. I still don’t trust him.” He takes the dress and puts it on, and Undertaker helps him put the ensemble together.   
      

Sometimes Ciel wonders why he puts up with all this.

 

o0o0o0o

  
         
Aleister Chambers of Druitt turns out to be a tall blond man better dressed for a suit advertisement than for a cup of tea in a university café. He seems immune to the Undertaker’s odd way of fawning over him, patting at his hair, and stirring a cup of what might have been milk tea before Undertaker added a dog-bone shaped biscuit.   
         
“Ah, now here’s my little songbird!” Aleister rises from his chair, and extends his arm in an embellished way. “I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance, my sweet. Do you care for tea? Or perhaps a sandwich?” He indicates the same counter Ciel’s been staring at all morning.  
         
“I believe the young lady likes sweets.” Undertaker snickers, slowly tiptoeing his way behind the counter, where he can lounge and watch at a distance. “Do you want gingerbread cake, or vanilla with strawberries and Santa heads?”  
         
Ciel unclenches his fists and slowly approaches the table. Aleister pulls the second chair out, leaning in to smell Ciel’s delicately arranged wig when he  
sits down. Ciel represses the urge to cringe.   
         
“Ah, but such youth! Such innocence. You are a treasure to look upon.” Aleister swoons, actually swoons back into his chair.   
      

Ciel frowns, and leans forward to rest his head on the table. He sees no reason to try and impress this man, or play along with his assumption that Ciel is a delicate girl. The agreement was for a chat and lunch. Ciel vows to make it a short one.   
         
"Oh, get my Robin the strawberry, and some more milk tea.” He lifts his chin ever so much, and gives the Undertaker such a look of nonchalant bossiness that Ciel nearly scoffs. A love struck and sincere façade for the naïve girl, and blue-blooded arrogance for the man who arranged the meeting. How very…transparent.  
        
The way this overly ruffled man addresses Ciel strikes Sebastian as overly familiar. “Oh,” Chambers groans, sounding something like a flirtatious dog in heat, “your hair is stunning. It shines like crushed pearls, and smells of fragrant jasmine. Such exquisite grace.” Sebastian snorts at the overly flowery words. An amateur poet as well?  
         
“Your visage reminds me of the former first lady of the theater, Madam Marion.” The fop pats his lips. “I used to see her plays, you know…she was quite something before she…well. Let’s not dwell on that.  They called her a Beast, you know.”   
      

Ciel makes a noncommittal noise. He’s never been all that good at sympathizing with people. Let alone someone he’s never even heard of.   
        
Undertaker skulks over. The effect is somewhat ruined by the clattering of the tea tray and desert spoons. “Your tea…” he grins. “The sweets are just here.”  He delicately holds the saucer and cup between two fingers, making a simple action into a balancing act.   
        
Aleister nods but does not acknowledge his presence.   
        
Ciel takes a sip of the milk tea, and then a bite of cake. A piece of whipped cream remains on his upper lip. Ciel, however, is oblivious as ever to this.   
        
At first, Aleister chuckles and sips his own tea, eying Ciel in a way that some might examine delicious desert. Slowly, he leaves his chair again, and stands next to Ciel. “There’s some cream…” Delicately, he brushes a finger against Ciel’s lip.  
        
Ciel is too startled to do much more than lean away. “Don’t.” Ciel insists, sounding more like his disagreeable self than before.   
        
Aleister smiles tightly. “I was so charmed by your photos the other day,” he says, “I got you a little something.”   
      

Ciel sips his tea without comment.   
        
“Please. Take a look.”   
        
The small box is big enough to contain a bracelet. In fact, it probably does. Ciel looks at the thing with hooded eyes, as though contemplating whether or not to open it and see what it is, or to take it and throw it back.  
        
At this moment, Sebastian takes it upon himself to walk over. “And how is the brew? Is the cake to your liking?”  
      

Aleister stiffens. “We’re fine as is, thank you.”   
      

Ciel eyes Sebastian suspiciously. “I don’t need that.” He nods toward the box, ignoring Sebastian.  
        
Assuming Ciel agrees with his opinion of Sebastian, Aleister smiles primly. “The young lady agrees. Please? If you could…”  
      

Ciel raises an eyebrow. He pushes the little box away daintily. “Sebastian,” he calls.  
        
“Yes, my lord?”  
        
 Aleister scoffs. “I didn’t—”  
        
“I’d like a different sweet.” As he eyes the display, his expression becomes more scheming. “The crowned snowman in the center looks appetizing. Bring it to me.” It is, of course, the most prominent sweet in Sebastian’s biscuit and cake display. Taking it would probably ruin the balance of the whole design.  
        
Sebastian’s lip twitches. “Of course.”  
        
Sebastian finds a clean white plate, puts on one of the disposable gloves again, and removes the snowman. He keeps his eye on the overly presumptuous figure even as he sets it down lightly.  
        
Aleister watches as Ciel nibbles slowly at his food. “My, but you do enjoy the sweets, don’t you?”  
        
Ciel shrugs.   
        
“Do you like poetry? I myself am something of a poet. Looking at you, I think of the most charming verses…” he lowers his lashes, blinking in what Ciel supposes is a seductive sort of way.   
        
He bites delicately at the marzipan and biscuit creation.   
      

Aleister lowers his voice and lets each syllable ring with passion. “The winter wind picks up the flowers in our gardens, and carries them back to us.”  
      

“The flowers, the ones with their deathly pale blossoms and half frozen stalks….” Ciel muses. Poetry, he decides, is a bit harder than he thought. “Woe.”   
      

“On the wind, you can hear our hearts clamoring with joy!”  
        
“….that sounds funny.”   
        
“You need to follow along better.”   
        
 Ciel shrugs and finishes his biscuit.   
        
Chambers smiles and adjusts the collar of his shirt. He swings forward, his long hair catching the light and shimmering like a conditioner advert. “Hurry! Let us go, dear Robin. We shall watch sunlight on its wings and dance while the moon rises to its zenith!”  
         
Ciel scoffs, most unladylike. “Sorry?”  
         
“Off we go!”  
         
Sebastian moves to intercept the pair. He tilts his head ever so slightly, and does not retract his gaze. “Come now, Druitt.” The rebuke is quiet, and more formal with the use of his title rather than family name. “Surely even a person of your status should know that buying a person off with gifts…even sweet, young,” his gaze flicks to Ciel, “girls. It’s not as legal as you seem to think it is.”  
      

Chambers stops. He turns to stare at Sebastian. “What are you implying?”   
         
It isn’t only Sebastian staring at the Viscount now. There’s the university students and Ciel himself. Unlike the Viscount’s flighty, bubbly air earlier, he seems almost serious. Or perhaps just put out.  
         
Sebastian smiles. He drops his gaze, and his expression seems almost smug. “Ciel has had quite enough of being whisked off by unknown men, Druitt…”  
      

Chambers’ smile is weak. “You have the strangest sense of humor. Haha, of course I only meant to dance. We will have quite at time of it, don’t you think, sweetling?”   
      

Sebastian watches as Ciel quietly disentangles himself. Ciel’s visible eye darts back and forth, like a little sparrow searching for an escape route. He spares a look for his employer, who idly munches on a dog-bone biscuit.   
         
A thrill of success dances on Sebastian’s tongue, and his whole mouth tingles with it. This game is his.   
      

“I’m sorry, Mister Chambers…” Ciel murmurs.   
         
“Please call me Aleister.” He catches hold of Ciel’s shoulder.  
         
“I’m afraid I can’t.” Ciel wiggles out of Chambers’ grasp, and backs away towards Sebastian.  
      

With a small inclination of his head, Sebastian draws attention back to himself. “Thank you so much for your patronage. I hope you enjoyed your tea and holiday sweets.”   
      

With that, Chambers pulls his shoulders back, and shrugs loosely. “Yes. I hope to see you again, Ciel…perhaps when you…are less stressed, I think.”   
         
Ciel nods indistinctly.    
         
With that, Chambers flounces off in a slightly embarrassed huff.   
         
In the resounding quiet after the man leaves, Ciel wanders back to the staff room. Undertaker finally gives in to amused guffaws, and follows after.   
         
After a few minutes, Ciel returns in his usual clothes. A few of the customers glance up at him—apparently for the lack of long hair and dress. He does a remarkable job at ignoring them, Sebastian thinks, and he offers a tiny smile.   
      

“You can sit down now,” Ciel drawls, affecting a superior tone that he’d been without for most of the Chambers event. “I can finish up.”   
         
“Take a break, Ciel. It’s only fifteen minutes until Alois takes your shift, anyways…” Undertaker hmms quietly. “You gave me enough laughs to take off now...”   
        
      

* * *

o0o0o0o

  
Another day, Ciel mopes and ponders how to spend the day. He flips through his sketchbook, considering new people in his life. Flirtatious, but devious would-be-boyfriends seem as full of risk as family relations. _But still…he is a good cook. And Undertaker said he’d serve me well. He does act like a servant._ But that is something to think about some other afternoon. His father is actually home, and might just talk about something interesting—or revealing—today.  
        
Vincent Phantomhive leans against his desk. His head falls into shadow as he looked irritably at the wood paneling. The call is too late in the evening to be anything but bad news.  
        
“Yes. Yes I heard,” he murmurs into the phone.  
        
Ciel, who was idly sewing a plush doll in his second-bedroom, else known as his work-studio, tries not to listen too obviously. His father’s door is open a crack; Vincent must have forgotten to close his door after retrieving something from another room.  
      

“I don’t think that would be quite necessary. Whatever makes you say that?” He stops fidgeting altogether, and this is when Ciel strains his ears to listen.  
        
The phone conversation is mysteriously vague on Vincent’s part…though Ciel can hear the frustration, the simmering plot forming in his father’s pauses more than his words.  
        
In the other room, Vincent pulls a pen from the drawer, and idly sketches on a piece of graph paper. What he scribbles could hardly be called a design—Rachel had always been instrumental in creating and finishing designs for the company when the family bothered to help, but she has been too distracted recently.  
        
“No.” His voice hovers between laughter and scorn, and his eyes have a familiar set to them that Ciel couldn’t quite place. He’d never been on the receiving end of that gaze, directly, and he certainly couldn’t see it now. “Couldn’t the issue be solved by re-appropriating funds from the design department to the production? We’re about ready to open on a big season, you know.”  
        
Ciel knows this. He also knows how many times his father has tried similar approaches—as though shuffling the little funds they have could solve a problem much bigger than his father cared to admit. _But he thinks he knows everything about business…_  
      

“Yes. Yes, I know. Listen, we can’t talk about this now. There’s a board meeting in the morning, and—”  
        
 Footsteps in the hall drown out his next words, and Ciel glimpses a flash of red Duiponi silk.  His aunt, Angelina Durless, opened the door a bit wider, and revealed the scene a little better to the snooping teen. “Vincent,” she purrs. “I need to talk to you.”  
        
From Ciel’s new vantage point at the door, he can see his father’s relief, and his tired smile. “Please forward your concerns to Tanaka. Yes. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. Yes. Honestly, I need to—”  
        
Angelina leans forward, calmly takes the phone from Vincent—who doesn’t seem to be protesting too much—and says sweetly, “Mister Phantomhive needs to attend to his family. You are aware of the situation, are you not? Mmm. Quite. Now, if you would please leave off the phone calls for at least one night…?” and hands the phone back to Vincent.  
      

“Well.” Amusement fights an arrogant, noble-esque tone. “That wasn’t very professional of you…” he chides, and says to the speaker, “Family troubles,” he explains, and a frown creases his forehead. He shakes his head, apparently at a loss.  
      

“Your son, Vincent.” Madam Red offers.  She’s been controlling the conversation, and her voice is pitched to carry. “You do remember your son was very nearly kidnapped? Aren’t there things you should be _doing?_ ”  
      

Ciel rolls his eyes. _That was just a mix up…_ he thinks to himself, and hopes his father will get the right idea.  
        
“Yes. A good evening to you, then.” He finally ends the conversation. To Ciel, he’s more than a little relieved. “Anne,” he begins tiredly, but the lady doesn’t give him time to speak.  
        
 _He oughtn’t be relieved. It’s his fault the family business is in so much trouble to begin with,_ Ciel thinks darkly.  
      

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Angelina’s voice is full of something like frustration. She’s not quite comfortable around Vincent—not since Ciel’s uncle died, her husband.  
      

“Forgot what, pray tell?” Vincent asks lightly.  
        
It isn’t the right thing to say. “Your son quite neatly evaded police custody, don’t you think?”    
      

Vincent shrugs. “Did he now?”  
      

“Yes. Rachel told me they said you’d picked him up. But you didn’t really, did you?” She’s probably frowning. Not an angry expression, but something more like mockery. Angelina never made her feelings easily accessible, but with Vincent…  
      

Ciel’s father straightens, and then stands. He takes a few short steps to be at Rachel’s side, and his smile is as charming and as persuasive as it ever was.  
        
 _Unlike Sebastian’s,_ Ciel thought. Though there could be said to be…similarities in their force of personality.  
        
“Angelina.” He says her name softly, and his voice offers no secrets. _Everything is clear for those who look,_ he seems to say, without saying anything more.  
        
Her determination falters there. Everyone’s does. It’s his father’s last card, playing on those old feelings his aunt might have had, urging her to forget that line of blame. After all, and he knows the game very well.  
        
“You’ll speak to Ciel, won’t you? You know how he adores you,” she says instead of whatever lecture she’d come to give.  
      

Vincent glances up, and by the shadows and the flashes of color and movement, he knows exactly where his son is standing. He offers a tiny, crooked smile.

_Not one to charm, but one to congratulate,_ Ciel thinks.  
        
But the time for listening in has passed.  He moves from the door to his desk, and the last of his family’s conversation he can safely overhear is unenlightening small talk.  
      

“Why don’t we move this into the parlor? Rachel would love to see more of you, I’m sure.  I’ll put on another pot of tea…”  
        
And that’s that.

o0o0o0o

tbc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a bit more on this chapter, but ran out of energy halfway through. So, splitting it up! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Critique welcome! Comments adored.


	7. Sebastian, Plotting. His master, Confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I added another 6 pages after having it betaed, so any mistakes are my own. This chapter’s a little long. Will edit again over the next few days.

Ciel can’t sit still. Half a dozen art projects are scattered over every surface in his room—bags of fluff, pillows of plastic pellets clutter his bed, while bolts of ribbon and colored thread are stacked at hazardous angles. He sets his fountain pen to the paper for the fourth time, leaving another blot on an otherwise empty page.  
  
He sighs with disgust.  
  
Before he really decides where he’s going, he’s clattering down the stairs, still clutching his fountain pen.  
  
“Ciel? Are you going out?” Rachel’s voice cuts through the hazy fog of half-understood emotions. “Weren’t you working on your portfolio for the London Art University?”  
  
Ciel freezes up for an instant, but then keeps moving for the door.  
  
Whatever words his mother meant to follow are cut off by the solid _thunk_ of the door closing.  
  
Two blocks away from his home, Ciel thinks he ought to have put on a jacket before coming out. _How hard is it to say, ‘I’m going out to get some air.’_ he thinks, sighing at his rude departure.  
  
They used to be close, his mother and him. Visions of plush animals and tea parties comes to mind.　His mother was insistent on teaching him proper manners, but all the while, she indulged his imagination. Ciel keeps walking, hunched against the wind.  
  
The park at night is quiet. As late as it is, it looks as though no one’s ever crossed into it, which is exactly how Ciel wants to see it. So he can brood in silence, staring up at the night sky with one eye covered.  
  
Sebastian’s patent leather shoes make a soft _click_ on the path, sounding out only when he’s just before Ciel. It’s as though he appeared with a gust of wind, but in reality, Ciel’s mind was wandering.  
  
Sebastian is half pleased. His smile holds an ironic _I knew you would call for me,_ that he hasn’t yet voiced, along with a quiet apology, which he does. “Sorry for keeping you.”  
  
Ciel laughs dryly. “I wasn’t waiting.”  
  
Sebastian is nearly sinister in the half-light. He keeps his distance, and Ciel notices he’s wearing white gloves, of all things, but otherwise, is dressed in a smart black suit. “Getting some air?” Sebastian questions, his voice demure and unassuming.  
  
Ciel feels his breath catch in his throat. He feels a slight pang of guilt, remembering his mother, forgotten in her workroom. He pushes the thought from his mind, concentrating on the black figure before him.  
  
A moment passes.  
  
“Air.” Ciel repeats vaguely. He doesn’t like the weakness in his voice, and it makes his temper flare. “I came here to be _alone,_ you nonce.”  
  
Sebastian ignores the insult, as composed as if Ciel never said it. “Did you enjoy your date?” Sebastian’s mouth is cruel, a red crescent against his placid features.  
  
“Of course I didn’t. That wasn’t a date—it was business, ” Ciel hisses, barely keeping his teeth from chattering.  
  
“My.” In a moment, Sebastian is right next to him—leaning in as he proffers his jacket. “Perhaps our work is not so different…”  
  
Ciel can’t stop from shaking. Some of Sebastian’s body warmth is still in that thin cloth, though the wind snatches at it even as he leans in. “I—” his teeth chatter. “H-Hardly.” With effort, he stills his teeth.  
  
Instead of commenting, Sebastian meets Ciel’s gaze. “Did you keep the bracelet, then? Druitt will assume you’ve accepted his advances.” One hand grasps Ciel’s, and Sebastian’s hand encompasses his wrist with two fingers. “Nice workmanship there…pink-gold roses, wasn’t it?”  
  
“I don’t need anything so frilly….” Ciel drops his gaze, suddenly self-conscious, even though his wrist is bare.  
  
With the other hand, Sebastian brushes Ciel’s cheek. “Then away with it—no more roses at your feet.”  
  
Ciel leans away. He turns his face to the woodwork, admiring the geometric design interlaced with flowers. “I suppose you’ll be offering me something better?” His voice is dark, bitter.  
  
Sebastian closes in on Ciel. His presence is both warm and inviting, but also unknown. “I could give you the crown…a crown of iron and silver…” He smiles thinly and catches Ciel’s chin.  
  
“Don’t you mean a crown of roses?” Ciel mocks.  
  
Sebastian’s breath is a kiss of warmth. His eyes are mocking, greedy. “A crown of victory is not made of soft petals, Ciel Phantomhive.”  
  
“Victory in….” Ciel’s eyes narrow, and his mouth thins. The night is too short for mysterious conversations, and the dark looms thick and long around him. He won’t have this. “Sorry, Michaelis. I don’t understand your meaning.”  
  
“Aah, with me at your side…little lord…” Sebastian seems a world away, a voice from the darkness. “What is your wish?” The heady perfume of success, power, and influence wafts from the slender man before him.  
  
Such cunning eyes. Such sharp teeth.  
  
“No.”  
  
The silence is heavy.  
  
Now, it’s Sebastian holding his breath. His eyes flash darker than Ciel’s ever seen them. His teeth flash once—but he merely exhales sharply. And the cold menace Ciel felt in those burning eyes is masked with those mocking—or deceiving—lips.  
  
Sebastian smiles. “I see.”  
  
Once again, he’s the suave, ironic patron of Undertaker’s bookshop café.  
  
He pats Ciel’s hand once, and withdraws. “It’s past your bedtime, Ciel Phantomhive. Can’t have you catching cold at this time of year…” Sebastian buttons his suit-jacket around the frail shoulders, and spins the boy toward the entrance.  
  
Ciel, once again in a fog, can’t seem to follow the events.  
  
“Good night, Sebastian…” he mutters, and heads toward home. Sometimes, he really doesn’t understand him at all.  
  
Ciel walks quickly, shaking and shivering even with Sebastian’s jacket. He’s been outside too long, so this light weight fashionable thing isn’t enough to stop him from feeling the biting cold.  
  
 _What was that about?_ Ciel’s mind is abuzz with mismatched thoughts. His imagination dreams up concoctions of purple shadows and crow’s wings, comical devil’s tails, and strange, sensual smiles.  
  
He’s careful to take a different way home, afraid that Sebastian might try and follow him after all. But all the while, he can’t get Sebastian’s words out of his mind.  
  
 _With me at your side…_ In his thoughts, Sebastian’s face is pale as a mask, his mouth a red slash, his eyes dark and burning like dying embers. His soft touches, his gentle voice might seem to spell something completely different from the ominous picture painted in his mind’s eye.  
  
 _What do you wish?_ That silky voice could tempt the devil himself.  
  
Ciel turns down an unfamiliar street, a narrow strip of asphalt barely wide enough for a single car to pass. Shoulders hunched, he hurries along, turning corners and half jogging before he sees a chemist he recognizes. Glancing about to make sure of any figures in the shadows are _not_ watching him.  
  
No grasping hand reaches out of the darkness, nothing so much as stirs as the youth steals a glance in the dark corner.  
  
Just as he steps into the street, Ciel realizes there’s something moving in the side of his vision. Just then, sound catches up with him, and the sound of speeding wheels enters his awareness.  
  
Surprise makes his face tense, and his eyes widen. There’s barely time to register the car, and though Ciel slows to a stop, he’s not fast enough to move out of the way.  
  
Strong arms reach out, knocking the wind from him and yanking him back a fraction of a second before the cab speeds by, honking loudly into the empty street.  
  
With it gone, the night returns to silence. Sebastian doesn’t say a word, but of course, Ciel can’t keep so calm. His rapidly beating heart, his own breathing seems to snap the night too close.  
  
He’s too startled to do much more than watch the backside of the cab. Ciel’s breath comes out in uneven gasps.  
  
Sebastian lets Ciel go at last, pushing Ciel back onto the sidewalk with one gloved hand.  
  
Ciel feels the strength leave his legs, along with a light-headed feeling. His eyes dart across the street and back to Sebastian.  
  
“Steady,” Sebastian murmurs, putting a hand on Ciel’s shoulders. “You’re all right.” He looks at Ciel closely and frowns. “Take deep breaths.”  
  
Ciel nods, and steps quickly away. “I’m fine. It’s the weather—” my lungs, he thinks. A rush of confused emotions make him flush. He can’t think straight around Sebastian.  
  
Sebastian looks closely at Ciel, looking for signs of illness or injury, Ciel hopes. He has the strong sense that Sebastian is looking _through_ him. Like Sebastian can see his mixed feelings. Attraction, revulsion, and fascination. Gratitude and curiosity, as well, but those feelings are largely overwhelmed by shock.  
  
Despite all of this, Sebastian only nods coolly, and starts walking down the road without a backward glance.  
  
Ciel breathes in deep, slow breathes. He can’t stay here the rest of the night. So he puts one foot in front of the other…and walks on.  
  
There will be time to figure out Sebastian later.

* * *

  
  
The boy agrees to meet Sebastian at Lao’s restaurant. In between the family tables and private booths, costumed waiters and waitresses act their parts—taking orders and walking back to where Lao “oversees” the cooks.  
  
When Sebastian enters Lao’s line of sight, he abandons the chefs—much to their relief—and wraps his arm around Sebastian’s shoulders. Sebastian just as easily shrugs out of his grip.  
  
“Your little doll is waiting for you. He looks quite peeked…did you want a cocktail with your dinner?”  
  
Sebastian smiles thinly. “Nothing special. Make him some of your milk teas…the sweet ones with tapioca pearls.” He shakes his head. “But nothing unordinary, Lao…his father is—”  
  
“Unlike you to be worried about the _father…_ ” Lao laughs, but he nods his understanding.  
  
Without another word, he leads Sebastian to where Ciel previews the menu.  
  
“Shall I recommend an entrée?” Lau purrs, just as Sebastian sits down.  
  
Ciel shakes his head tightly. “I—”  
  
“We would enjoy something light, Lao. Also, I would not be pleased if the taste is—”  
  
“Yes, yes—nothing but the best for your little date.” Lao laughs. “Please enjoy your meal.”  
  
Sebastian and Ciel sit back, and Sebastian speaks quietly about the tea in Lao’s establishment. He serves a cup to Ciel, and waits for the young man to open up.  
  
Minutes pass. Ciel says nothing.  
  
Finally, he asks, “Is something bothering you?”  
  
  
Ciel huffs. “Well, it’s just that there’s a lot going on recently.” He looks at Sebastian out of the corner of his eye, and then decides to study his fingers.  
  
“Family troubles.” Sebastian murmurs.  
  
“Yeah…” There’s a moment of silence. He looks off to the side. “You know I’ll be going to university soon…and, well. There’s the family business—the Funtom company—and my dad expects me to go study business, succeed him, and magically fix the whole mess.”  
  
Sebastian raises an eyebrow elegantly, and waits for Ciel to continue.  
  
Ciel does. “It used to be a great, successful company or something…back in the day. My Grandfather started it, and it raised our family’s wealth and name. But you know, that was a long time ago. Really, the whole company needs more than a…a fresh ‘face’ to lead.” He leans against the plush cushions, and drums his fingers on the table.  
  
“The moldering bones of a giant company. That’s what they expect you to inherit.” Sebastian smiles. “And your lovely mother? What does she want?”  
  
“I don’t know…”  
  
“Surely you have an idea?”  
  
“I don’t understand my mum.” Ciel folds in on himself, a small bundle of muscle and bone. Just a stubborn child, refusing to take his chores.  
  
Lao returns with the food. As requested, it is a light affair; delicately spiced vegetables, steamed and cut into pretty designs. There’s nothing that could upset an already nervous boy’s stomach.  
  
Sebastian accepts the chopsticks from Lao, and requests the second tea to come after dinner.  
  
Instead of agreeing, Lao laughs, winking at Ciel. “I’ll bring you your desert tea whenever you like, Ciel.”  
  
Sebastian shoos him out with a look.  
  
Ciel nibbles at the food. As Sebastian suspected, the boy doesn’t have much of an appetite.  
  
“Can we leave?” Ciel asks finally. “I…you’re not going to talk to me here, are you?”  
  
Sebastian observes Ciel coolly, but has nothing to say. He smiles over the remainder of their meal, and eventually nods.  
  
Embarrassed, Ciel looks back at the tiny plates, the small amounts of food they haven’t touched. He doesn’t know what to say. “That is, if you’re ready?”  
  
Sebastian folds his napkin. One ironic eyebrow lifts. “Your life is hard. Is that what you want to say?”  
  
The bits of sauce left on the plates seems to make a pattern. Ciel doesn’t reply.  
  
“Open your eyes, Ciel Phantomhive.” Sebastian doesn’t have to lean forward; his presence carries far enough with the intensity of his gaze. “You should appreciate everything you have. Family. Wealth. Influence….”  
  
Ciel scowls. “What wealth? Haven’t you noticed where I work?” he snaps. “The only wealth we have left is all for show—mismanagement, Sebastian. And a father who plays his games with stakes too high.”  
  
Sebastian’s eyes glitter. “Ah, you are so young.”  
  
Ciel stops. He thinks desperately about whatever Sebastian could mean—but comes up blank.  
  
“Shall we?” Sebastian gets to his feet.  
  
Time is a blur—with Lao’s eyes twinkling as he accepts the payment, and attempts to give Ciel some version of bubble tea that Ran-Mao assures him is ‘specially made.’ Ciel politely declines, and the whole affair is over with.  
  
He wonders what they would have put in the tea, if anything at all.  
  
Once again, they’re walking along the back-ways of a park, out of easy sight and under the canopy of sky... they walk for what seems like an age.  
  
At last, Ciel pulls his hands from his pockets, his fingertips pink with cold. His whole body is heavy, stiff in comparison to Sebastian, who practically reeks of self-possessed _certainty._ Ciel’s breath catches in his throat.  
  
Sebastian looks at the boy—the young man. As he contemplates Ciel, his lips twist into a smile that’s not quite right. There’s hunger behind his steady gaze, and his hands would betray him. He turns away, hiding them behind his back.  
  
To Ciel, it’s obvious. It’s time for all uncertainties to be made clear.  
  
The boy leans in forcibly, making himself close the distance between them. As though he could make up for a deficiency in romantic grace with proximity and a certain amount of bravado.  
  
 _Ah, but there is beauty there._ Sebastian observes. He thinks of lips that quirk downward, more likely to frown with spite instead of smile. He remembers the boy’s arrogance, his proud manner. _His thirst for acknowledgement and that passion for….control?_  
  
Ciel manages a small step forward. He touches his cheek to Sebastian’s shoulder, leaning there somewhat stiffly. “I wanted to thank you for….that time. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”  
  
Ciel’s hands tremble.  
  
 _Is it with cold, or nerves?_ Sebastian wonders, dispassionate.  
  
He reaches around Sebastian, fumbling for his hands—but Sebastian has them clasped tight. Otherwise, the little one might notice. He stands still, watching Ciel as one might watch a bird in flight.  
  
Ciel looks at him, panic rising in his cobalt eyes. He does a remarkable job at holding it in, and pulling away. If just a _bit_ too fast.  
  
At last, Sebastian lazily extends one hand, tousling the boy’s hair. “You are…more predictable than I thought, young sir.”  
  
Ciel eyes him, embarrassment and anger mixed into his gaze. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asks hotly. His cheeks flush red, and then the blood leaves his face. Passions flow quick in the young Phantomhive, it would seem.  
  
“I have no interest in prey that’s easy to catch…” Sebastian murmurs disinterestedly, as though he were commenting on the scenery.  
  
Ciel stares in surprise, shaking his head in disbelief. “What the hell do I care? It’s not like I—” he sputters. He takes several steps away from Sebastian, clearly hurt, and confused. “What’s going on in your head?”  
  
Sebastian feels a rush of warmth. Everything is going as planned. A little sugar, a little push…  
  
“Who are you kidding?” Ciel scoffs, his voice full of scorn. “Easy? No way.” The young man storms off in a huff.  
  
Sebastian watches him leave, smiling wide. When Ciel seeks him out again, that will be the time. He will fall so easily…maybe he could have Ciel feed from his hands…like a small, helpless animal…or a delightful kitten…  
  
With that future in mind, he turns on his heel. He, too, will have a feast.

* * *

  
  
  
Gregory watches the place where the boy had sat, his solemn eyes taking in the details of an ordinary classroom in the way other young men might steal glances at a scene unfolding around them.  
  
The empty space where a desk had been holds his eyes. There. That's where he sat, ignored, (or bullied? His sources couldn't or wouldn't say) by his classmates until the day he jumped off the roof.  
  
Gregory settles into the space, folding his legs under him. He fusses with the clasp of his messenger bag and absently digs out his sketchbook. Charcoal or conté? Conte, he decides, at least for the first impressions.  
  
His hands scribble about the page, broad strokes rendering large portions of the paper a heavy black. A classroom at night, all solitude and awkward fierceness. Gregory sets the page aside and begins another.  
  
Brown terra cotta red mixes to make the actual scene around him—late afternoon sun on neat rows of empty desks. He wonders what to do with the empty space, how to interpret it.  
  
A black and gray ghost of a desk, or maybe even a boy? A black smudge? But no, just leave it empty.  
  
“Hey, what are you doing? This classroom is supposed to be locked! The voice is disgruntled, male. The classroom door slides open. “The school is not open to the public.” The voice is somewhat authoritative, but mostly surly. “Who let you in here?”  
  
Gregory registers heavy footsteps down the gangway next to him, but doesn’t look up from his work. He sets the page aside and begins another. The view outside the window (very like the photo published next to the newspaper headline. A view of the garden below、a bit of the curtain. In his stark hand, the lines are something out of a gothic comic strip, scenes from a horror story.  
  
The teacher or groundskeeper, whoever he is, stops and stares at the lanky youth sitting on the ground. “What are you doing?”  
  
Gregory looks up to see the middle aged man getting red in the face. He looks back down to the paper, to the conté.  
  
“Sorry sir—I let him in.” The trembling, high pitched voice of the day girl that let him in. The girl from the upper sixth…the suicide’s classmate. “He was asking about Peter…Sir, he looked so upset, I thought—”  
  
Behind him, the teacher snaps his mouth shut, red giving way to a grayer completion. Gregory adds a few last strokes to the view out the window, and then gets up to examine it in person. He pays the man and his words no mind, taking in the gloomy atmosphere, imagining it when it was hostile, or perhaps indifferent. He imagines the students, trying to fit them into the fragmented and sensational story.  
  
His cell phone rings. It’s another of the P4, so he answers it. “Hello?”  
  
The teacher makes an exasperated noise, followed by what might be, “Now see here, young man, this is private property. If you have no business with the school—”  
  
“Where are you?” Bluer’s fag, Clayton skips the greeting. “The meeting started fifteen minutes ago. Cheslock is looking all over for you. You’re supposed to have information—”  
  
Gregory yawns, and peers out the window again. To the teacher’s surprise, he hoists himself up onto the windowsill, and rises slowly to his feet. _The last view he saw._  
  
The wind blows, making his fringe tickle his cheeks. “About Sebastian or Ciel?” He asks slowly.  
  
“Not over the phone,” Clayton scolds.  
  
“Right.” Gregory takes that as a reason to hang up. Clayton or Cheslock will probably call again. It’s nearly an hour back to Weston.  
  
Behind him, his sketches swirl on the ground, like dried leaves in autumn. Gregory savors the scene, committing it to memory. He will paint it, he decides. Water color, maybe. Or ink. The lonely death of a sixth former surrounded by his callous peers dominates his thoughts, in spite of the meeting he’s missing.  
  
The others will wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Your reviews, comments, suggestions and other (things) are amazing. Just amazing.
> 
> Feed me~ your comments~~ and critique is OK too~~ :) actually, thoughtful and encouraging critique means "I love you and think you can be Even Better." Kudos = "I like it." Comments = "I like it and I"m EXCITED." critique = "nomnomnom, I will eat your heart~~" …in a good way. ♥


	8. Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel corners Undertaker, and then Sebastian, about his suspicious behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: special thanks to Carrie for betaing. You are seriously a life saver. And thank you for encouraging me when I got stuck!

* * *

School ends with a chime. Chairs are pushed in, books and pens collected as students rush to be on their way. Ciel continues staring out the window.

"Ciel, you coming to the lecture?" Soma chirps.

"Hm?"

"The one before first period tomorrow. You are sitting the A-exams, aren't you?"

"Right…yeah." Ciel straightens his belongings before picking them up again.

"I've got work in half an hour. See you later, right?" Before he can escape, strong fingers clutch at his elbow.

"Ciel~ don't forget me~" Soma wails, clinging to his rather annoyed classmate.

Ciel snorts. "That's hardly likely." He shakes his head as he gets out of the Indian boy's grip.

"You decided where you're going?" Soma calls after him. "You _are_ going to uni, right? You're not going to run off and elope or join the police or something, right? Because it'd be a waste with your marks…" Soma frowns at him, but his overly wide eyes ruin the look.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Soma. Maybe I'll have decided by then." Frustrated, Ciel shoulders his way to his locker, eager to get away from the nervous tension of his peers. Just before A levels, _everyone_ is tense. The others constantly discuss their intended areas of focus, or weigh the benefits of this or that university.

Outside, students flock like crows. They talk, they walk, and they neither change nor decide anything.

Ciel huddles down into his scarf, thinking of school and the future, pressing down ever harder on his mind. He tries to cool his head on his walk to work, but the overcast sky does nothing to improve his mood.

He opens the door with a flourish. He casts his eyes about, briefly noticing some customers and then makes straight for Undertaker.

Undertaker is running the register when necessary, then meandering around the café otherwise. He is so rarely busy, though, that he can manage the shop by himself throughout the day, merely placing a sign on the bookshop side register, directing potential customers to take their items to the café for purchasing.

Once again, Ciel finds himself completely unaware of any customers in the shop. He leans against the counter and stares hard into the Undertaker's eyes. "I need to know about Sebastian." He imagines his voice sound low, insistent.

Undertaker looks up slowly. "Sebastian?" Unlike Ciel, he doesn't bother to cover his curiosity, or lower his voice. His smile is as wide as a skeleton's. "Didn't I tell you? He works at an S&M club."

At that, the entire store looks at the Undertaker. Ciel can feel their eyes on his back. He rolls his eyes.

Undertaker merely picks up a bone-china cup, and hands it to Ciel. "Peppermint tea," he informs him.

Ciel dubiously accepts the cup. He stares into it, feeling his cheeks redden. "Yes, I know that." He bites his tongue, and tries to figure out what to say.

Someone coughs. "…Sebastian?" a few mutter.

Not for the first time, Ciel wonders exactly what kind of crowd is drawn to the Undertaker's. It probably wasn't the best idea to talk to Undertaker in front of them all…his shoulder tenses.

The Undertaker continues to grin at Ciel. To the rest of the room, he says, "If you're looking for Sebastian, he's not _here_. Try again later." To Ciel, he continues the litany of information-that-Ciel-already-knows. "The House of Thorns, yes?"

"I know all this…."

Undertaker drawls, "Do you now?" He shakes his head, spinning his hair around one finger. "What you really need to know is how to get his attention."

Ciel looks down. He hides his eyes with his fringe, and adjusts his school clothes. He shakes his head in exasperation, and snaps, "Enough already!"

"My, my, but aren't we testy? Is it because he stopped pursuing you, or because you have to pursue him?" Undertaker chuckles while he arranges a variety of chocolate lollipops with exaggerated care.

With the grace of a storyteller, he flips one over. His voice is his usual rumbling, good-humored tenor, and anyone who wants to hear is certainly able to. "He started coming by not too long ago…as you guessed from reading my email," here he gave Ciel a pointed look, "I know him from before."

"And?" Ciel leans forward, trying to distract Undertaker from his larger audience.

"He's one hell of a typist…" Undertaker snickers most inappropriately.

"Sorry?" Ciel wavers between curiosity and annoyance at (yet again) missing the humor in one of the Undertaker's jokes.

"Hmmm." Undertaker gropes for words. "Computer user…?" He offers a crooked smile.

"Hacker?"

"No, not quite." A pause, and he looks up from under his ridiculous hat. "Wait…what does that word entail?"

"You know what it means, so asking is beside the point!" Ciel protests.

"Yes, yes…" Undertaker coughs, his smile seeming more copied than usual. The action seems awkward, almost like he's not sure he should show his teeth or not. "Sebastian…he's certainly talked about in certain circles. He's good with computers, like I told you. He has connections. Like me, Lau and Gregory…"

Ciel scoffs. "You call them connections?" He shakes his head, and pulls himself up to his full height. "I know connections—my father has connections." Ciel waves a hand dismissively, but then freezes.

Vincent does come and talk with the Undertaker from time to time. Ciel has the feeling that he hasn't grasped even the barest hint of the shadowy world his father flirts with.

He pushes that thought aside and continues. "Tell me about the work he did for you then."

Ciel ignores the jingle of the bell that announces the entrance of a customer, so intent is he on watching Undertaker for any hint of disclosed information. Any speck of rumor he can use.

Only the sense of someone behind him makes Ciel stop his line of questioning. The back of his neck tingles.

"Are you fishing for details about me?" That voice, etched with ridicule but masked with a prestigious accent, makes Ciel freeze. He turns ever so slightly to look behind him. Sebastian doesn't lean in like he might have days before, but stays just out of reach behind the table; he watches Ciel in the way one might observe a curious insect.

Ciel turns around fully, and catches a glimpse of the few patrons in the shop.

Around them, the shop quiets briefly and then hums with quiet conversation. Several pairs of eyes watch Sebastian with decided interest. If Ciel could put words in their mouths, he'd guess, _So_ _that's_ _what an S &M person looks like_…

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "Didn't know we had an audience…"

He sits down at the table across from Undertaker, and crosses his legs. At his easy arrogance, most people in the shop look away. He smiles, showing his teeth in a catlike challenge.

Ciel bites his lip, suddenly irritable at this overly relaxed posture.

Sebastian looks up through his fringe. "Are you looking for an easy date?" He smiles at his opponent. "Shall we ring up Druitt for you, then?"

"Don't," he warns. "And no, of course not!" Ciel scoffs.

Sebastian merely continues smiling. "Oh, look here. There seems to be a spot on the table…" Sebastian frowns at the smooth surface. "Could you bring a dust cloth, please?"

"I'm not on the clock yet, as you can clearly see by my attire," Ciel says stiffly. He doesn't move.

"I'll get you one, Sebastian." Undertaker rises slowly, walking over to the bar in a stately speed.

Sebastian tilts his head to the side and eyes Ciel. He lowers his voice to a low murmur. "How about we trade? I'll answer one of your questions if you answer mine." He leans in at last, daring Ciel to respond.

Ciel holds back a number of rude responses. He stands up, eager to go to the back room to be out of Sebastian's line of sight. Except that he also is tempted at the offer…

He slowly nods. "I only have fifteen minutes before I start," Ciel admits.

Sebastian smiles lazily. "Go ahead."

Ciel's eyes narrow. "You'll actually answer."

Sebastian nods.

"Hm." He turns away, his mind racing with the possibilities. _Of course_ , he thinks, _just because I ask doesn't mean he'll tell the truth_.

Ciel fixes Sebastian with a look, considering the man. _Could it be_ …? Sebastian may have said that he was no longer interested in an "easy catch," but if that were the case…

"You going to order something?" A slow, cocky smile spreads across Ciel's face.

Sebastian doesn't quite freeze up, but he reacts slower than he might have otherwise. Sebastian's gaze flickers to where Undertaker just went. "I'll wait..." he considers the drink menu, "until a more proficient person is available to brew my tea."

"Heeeh." Ciel's smirk is a mark against Sebastian's move. But, he must be sportsmanlike, so he clears his expression. "We'll talk later. In private." He looks meaningfully at the collection of college students. "I had no idea that you thought so highly of my skills. Just the other day you were lecturing me on the correct way to brew a pot." Ciel saunters away.

 _Caught you in a bluff_. Ciel thinks, the thrill of a challenge making the afternoon that much more promising. _Now, how long to make him wait_ …

* * *

o0o0o0o0

Ciel sits Sebastian down in the booth farthest away from the door. It's too late to find another café, and he's hardly going to bring Sebastian home for tea. Undertaker seems to be willing to extend café business for Ciel's benefit, so long as he gets to eavesdrop.

Ciel sips his café latte, and licks the cream from his lips. "Tell me what you think I want to know. Not what you think I want to hear."

A whisper of a smile. "Hm. And you have no desire to direct my answer to a particular area? Aren't you afraid I'll give you an answer not at all related to what you expected?"

"Stop avoiding the question. Answer already."

"You're curious about anything about me, so I will give you a brief work history, shall I?" Sebastian unwinds his scarf and casually places it next to him. "I previously attended a cookery school, specializing in modern British cuisine. I currently work part time at The House of Thorns, as the house dom. I also work for an online security company, which I told you before. The Undertaker has indeed consulted me about online data and security options, and the possibility of an online shop before. He seems to have lost interest, however."

"You're summarizing." Ciel accuses. "And you left out the dom business before. How do I know you're not omitting something now as well? Or including some past job as current…you did that too, you know. Cookery school and all that."

"The online security work is on commission. The last job was several weeks ago, if you must know. I'm self taught, and can execute any number of security tasks for the computer." Sebastian watches Ciel fidget in his seat, his dark eyes taking in every detail. "There are straightforward ways to get information... and there are long, tedious interactions called negotiating that get the same information, but waste both parties time." Sebastian shrugs, a challenging, testing look in his eyes.

Ciel puts both elbows on the table, staring at Sebastian over his clasped hands. "Are you a hacker?"

Sebastian chuckles. "Would you feel obligated to do something if I said yes?"

Ciel ponders the question. "I'll take that as a yes, then. Do you do any honest work?"

Sebastian doesn't comment. He just smiles coolly. "Enough about work. Are you curious about my educational background? Is this an interview?" He brushes at his blazer. "I'm afraid I didn't bring my CV."

"Do you have any family?"

Sebastian's answering gaze is sharp and interested. "None that I'm in contact with. We've had a falling out." His tone is dismissive, and final. Ciel guesses that any further questioning would only lead to vague, half-baked answers.

"Your turn, Ciel. Tell me about your family. You mentioned education troubles the last time we met…"

"When you were lukewarm and distant at Lau's?" Ciel retorts. "So happy that you were listening after all. I don't want to talk about it."

Sebastian raises an eyebrow.

"Too bad for you. I don't feel like you gave me any worthwhile new information, so you don't get any either." He downs the latte and goes behind the bar to run hot water over the cup.

Ciel washes up, and Sebastian waits. Undertaker watches, idly sewing a rag doll's lips shut.

"Good night, Undertaker." Ciel nods his goodbyes, and heads for the door.

Sebastian opens the door for Ciel. He looks into the cold darkness through the opening, and something in his expression tells Ciel that something unexpected waits.

"After you." Ciel insists.

"Good night, Undertaker." Sebastian steps through the door.

Ciel hesitates. But of course, that is ridiculous. If he's going home tonight, which he must, he must go outside.

At first, he sees nothing but parked cars and pavement, but then he notices a dark shape leaning against the sign.

"Good evening, Ciel, Sebastian." Gregory Violet lifts one hand in greeting. "Bit late, aren't you?"

Sebastian looks uncharacteristically unhappy at Gregory's appearance, but he says nothing to the young man.

"Oh, and Sebastian?"

Sebastian turns his cold gaze to Gregory. Is it irritation or frustration? He seems to hesitate, unsure of how to address him, perhaps? "Sorry?"

"You're being followed."

* * *

o0o0o0o0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc…
> 
> Author's Note: ...if the so-called British school sounds like a Japanese high school, my apologies. Please inform me of any mistakes!
> 
> thank you for sticking with me this far! The next couple of chapters will have more of Sebastian and Ciel (not realizing they're getting together…) with a hefty dash of plot to throw things a whirl.
> 
> Reviews are read, treasured, and read again. HEARTS and Chocolate to you for taking the time to write any~~


	9. Unveiled? A confrontation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel is cornered by the P4, who reveal things about Sebastian.

"Oh, by the way." Gregory Violet leans away from the sign, stretching his shoulders like a large cat. "You're being followed…"

Sebastian gives Gregory a solemn look. Why are you even addressing me.?He raises an eyebrow, resisting the urge to steal a glance at Ciel. "And you're telling me this…why?"

"Oh. I dunno. Thought it'd be interesting…" Gregory's smile is taunting, amused.

Sebastian frowns. Why did he have to do this in front of Ciel?"And you have this information because…?"

Gregory smiles and gestures with his cellphone. "Because they've been out here for the past quarter hour."

Sebastian turns slowly, and sees three figures. And so the P4 confronts Phantomhive. Did Violet set this up, or is this part of the plan?Sebastian, usually so fluid in his movement, jerks his arm towards the door Ciel has just closed.

"Perhaps we should go back inside. Leave through the back…"

Ciel juts out his chin. "Why? Gregory. What's going on here? Are you in on this?" His blue eye narrows, and he turns his cold anger towards me. "So you're doing something interesting enough to warrant being followed?" He scoffs, a dainty sound suited towards his doll-like face.

The three young men cautiously come forth. They stand there, looking both like the miserabl(y cold) sods they are, and yet they also seem imposing, high-born thugs.

"Good evening, Master Phantomhive!" Redmond's clear tenor voice carries through the night. He adjusts the collar on his winter coat, and produces a frozen flower, the tips gleaming with ice.

"You're late, Mr. Violet." Bluer's voice is cold and severe. He frowns at me and Ciel. "What are you doing here?"

Gregory shrugs elaborately. "I wanted to settle things. I don't trust Sebastian to be completely honest with us."

Ciel had been eying the group suspiciously, but at the mention of Sebastian's name, he smirks. "Naturally, Sebastian knows what this is about. Honest? Him?" He casts his eyes down, looking altogether unconcerned. "I'll be leaving. Finish up your business, then. I don't care."

"Wait." Greenhill frowns at Ciel, and takes a step to bar his way. He towers over Ciel. "This concerns you. Gregory wants to settle a matter concerning you."

"Heeeh. Is that so. What an interesting game you have going." His smile is bitter and goading. "If you want to talk to me, you have to do what I say. Answer my questions." He motions towards the shop. "And let's be gentlemen and do it out of the weather, shall we?"

"If I could, Ciel, my apartment is available, as is Lau's restaurant—" Sebastian begins, but Ciel cuts him off.

"No. Let's go back inside. I'm sure the Undertaker is still loitering."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Bluer turns his disapproving stare to Ciel. "I also know of a place, a discreet Italian restaurant not too far from here."

"If you want to talk to me, come in. Whether or not Sebastian comes in as well is up to him." Ciel doesn't spare the group another glance; he turns on his heel, and retreats to the only place nearby he could consider his territory.

"Are you sure about this? Involving the Undertaker is hardly wise…" Bluer pushes his glasses up his nose.

"Ah, but we can hardly decline our guest's invitation! It would be the height of rudeness." Redmond curls his lip. He follows Ciel in.

Slowly, they filter in, brushing snow from their shoes and taking off their winter coats.

Undertaker smiles like a Cheshire, all teeth and poor humor. "Welcome." His smile thins, and he looks at Sebastian. "A pot of Earl Grey for the table? Or do you prefer coffee?"

Sebastian sighs, and pulls out four chairs opposite to where Ciel has already made himself comfortable.

Undertaker places a china tea cup before each prefect and sets a large pot of tea before Buer and shuffles over to set a smaller pot and cup by Ciel. He slinks away from the table to a darker corner of the room. He serves Sebastian no tea.

Ciel breaks the silence. "And? Who are you? Why do you want to talk to me? Were you following Sebastian or me?" His voice is acidic, but curious. Besides, he knows he can't leave without the possibility of being followed. He has no confirmation that their group is limited to the four before him.

Bluer calmly pours tea while Greenhill answers. "We're prefects from Weston University." He watches Ciel carefully for some sign of recognition, some hint of understanding.

Ciel reveals nothing. Sebastian smiles bitterly, still at odds with the situation.

"Your father is an alumni." Redmund explains, his voice arrogant and polite where Greenhill's is businesslike.

Ciel nods, and looks to Sebastian. Clearly he has not yet puzzled through Sebastian's role in today's topic.

"We hired Sebastian," Gregory drones. "He was to get information first about you, and then your family."

At this announcement, Ciel's reserve cracks. "You wanted my—" He glowers at Sebastian, and looks around the room suspiciously. Everyone but him seems to know about the plot.

"Your soul, Ciel. I gave up on their plan ages ago…" Sebastian drawls. He gives upon sitting, and moves to stand behind the boy.

"You can't possibly believe him." Bluer raises an eyebrow.

Sebastian casts an ironic, if somewhat annoyed, look at the group. How am I supposed to get info when you keep revealing shit?Exasperation makes him restless.

Ciel's single blue eye is dark with suspicion. "You just wanted information on me?" He turns to Gregory for clarification. "Is he working for working for you or not?"

"He is."

"Even now?"

"He is."

Ciel snorts, and fixes Sebastian with a sour look.

"Who says I can't mix work and play? I still like you, Ciel…"

Ciel only glowers.

Sebastian gives the P4 an icy glare. "They wanted information about your father…"He doesn't care for abasing himself before them or Ciel. He spills the most vital information himself. Not that it matters anymore. "And why you didn't apply for Weston University, when obviously," gaze slides over the peeved prefects, "that's what they wanted you to do."

Ciel purses his lips, skeptical and surprised. That is a bit heavy on the recruitment…"

Sebastian shrugs. "Your father is an alumni. If he's involved in the black market, or any darker organizations, and people connect his name with the university…things will be bad for the schoo. Do you understand?"

"My Dad isn't doing anything wrong!"

"Even when you're the one who's doubting him…"

"Just because he doesn't run the business well." Ciel makes a dismissive gesture.

"Is it?" Sebastian leans in, forcing Ciel to look him in the eyes.

"Besides, it has nothing to do with you all." Ciel is sulky as a child. "Nothing to do with a university." Ciel leans back into his chair, cocking his head. He looks to each prefect in turn. "I have nothing more to say to you."

Ciel stands up, crossing his arms and looking severe. "Sebastian, you suggested that we make a contract. To give me victory. If we're to work together, then you do what I say." He gestures to the others.  
Sebastian nods slowly, his crimson eyes bright with curiosity or triumph.

"Don't. Feed. These. Snakes. Information. I forbid it. Instead, tell me all you know about them." His smile is thin and cruel. "As to the Phantomhive business, I'll get to the bottom of it on my own. Your posh school can stay out of it."

Redmond raises a delicate eyebrow. "Surely you're not going to investigate your own father..." he shakes his head. "That's not very reassuring..." Redmund casually tosses his hair and takes a sip from his tea. "On your own?"

Ciel stares stubbornly at him.

"Well then. Let's make a deal, Phantomhive." He smiles in the same manner as his uncle.

"Why should I make a deal with any of you?" Ciel lifts his chin.

Gregory stirs a lump of sugar into his tea. He reaches into his bag to pull out a sketchbook and pencil. "There's something you should know about your...partner, Ciel."

Ciel waits expectantly, a haughty, bored look just barely masking his curiosity.

Sebastian freezes. This is not something he anticipated for this confrontation. Did they really take my actions so badly?Or was this the plan all along?

But what little dread he might have felt at Ciel learning about his past is irrelevant. However black his sins or past, Ciel will not look away. His soul is perfectly blemished, the perfect balance between childish innocence and callous, self-absorbed hatred. Ciel may not be yet, but one day his wrongs will rival Sebastian's.

Gregory leans forward, and glances from Ciel to Sebastian. "He's a demon of a man."

Around him, Bluer scoffs, and Redmund looks away. No one says anything for a moment, before all three other prefects begin to mutter.

"Why did you—"

"-honestly, don't you think we—"

"—the most effective—"

Gregory sits back and watches for a moment. Undertaker, from his position across the store, watches the young man curiously. He stirs a cup of his own drink.

Sebastian laughs, and all fall silent.

"I couldn't say it better myself…" he smirks, but does not lift his face. He merely raises his eyes, and the curtain of black hair cuts vicious lines across his face. "I do one hell of a job."

Gregory looks at Undertaker idly, and then back at Ciel.

"Is that all?" Ciel purrs.

Greenwood sighs stiffly. He shakes his head twice, and looks up. The prefects share a glance, and seem to come to a conclusion.

"He was involved in a murder incident." Redmund deadpans. He closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable eruption.

Instead, Ciel nods slowly. "Hm."

Redmund looks up, surprised. "We're not here to hurt you, Ciel." He extends one hand in invitation. "Why don't you come over to us, and let us help you?"

"I refuse." Ciel's voice is refined, arrogant.

Sebastian smiles. "As is your wish, sir."

Greenwood snorts, and leans forward, his hands clenching on the table. "Michaelis—"

Violet laughs. "Don't be so hasty in your refusal, Ciel." He stirs his tea. "Are you sure it's all right to be associating with a man like that?"

Irritated, Ciel shoots him another look. "But it's ok for you to employ him?" He shakes his head stiffly. "I should say that's a lot more incriminating than anything my father has done, if Sebastian—if he's a—if he's involved in an open murder case."

"And it's ok for you to date him?" Gregory retorts.

Sebastian smirks. "I should think that's enough for today…"

"Fine then. If you're going to enter university, clear your and your father's name in the next two months, or you'll get nothing but rejection letters wherever you go."

"My, my. But wasn't that a delightful after-dinner snack. Such proactive recruiting for the prestigious Weston University…" Undertaker smiles. Half of the prefects start. "What have we got here…" he begins spilling a dark, molasses like substance over broken biscuits. "The P4 are concerned about his father's actions." He dollops a large glob over a piece. "Ciel claims it's merely business management troubles."

Bluer gives Redmund a significant look. He does not seem pleased.

Unperturbed, Undertaker continues in a half sing-song voice. "Sebastian is ma~ybe involved in a murder incident." Undertaker nibbles the messy stuff.

Ciel smiles sweetly. "Do you know anything about that, Undertaker…?" He leans in.

Sebastian, leaning over the boy, moves his chin with two long fingers. "I will tell you all. Tonight, if you would."

Gregory rolls his eyes.

"You want to hear the bloody tale…" he pulls back, jerking Ciel's chin up. "Learn my secrets." His smile is thin and mocking.

Even Ciel wonders if he'll hear truth from those lips.

Ignoring the drama, Undertaker continues after wiping his mouth. "Ciel proclaims he'll get to the bottom of everything on his own—thus finally accepting Sebastian's proposal of a contract…" He chuckles. "I know you'll be perfect for each other."

Redmund scowls. "Phantomhive, you ought consider other options. At university, they teach you how to support yourself. You wouldn't need him—"

"Thus, Sebastian is dismissed from the P4's employ, and everyone leaves with a new demand on Ciel's University entrance applications. Poor Ciel." He laughs, not sounding the least bit sorry.

Ciel sighs. "Yes, Undertaker." He shakes his head. "I'll be seeing you day after tomorrow."

With that, he takes his leave, Sebastian a black shadow behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: comments are inspiration. :D


	10. Ciel asks for an Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exert: "Tell me already, or get the hell out of my life,” Ciel demands. He throws a pillow at Sebastian. “I’m still not sure you didn’t have anything to do with that, you know. Your timing was just a little too good, you cellphone stalker.”
> 
> oOoOoOoOo

Sebastian's flat is almost too clean, Ciel thinks. Too tidy to be the home of a murderer. It's filled with classy, trim furniture, and makes use of simplicity in design and array.

The trip to Sebastian's place was a quiet one, and Ciel only now looks Sebastian in the eye. His gaze is not altogether trusting, but he doesn't shy from sitting near.

"So." He leans his chin into his hand. "Tell me everything you know about them. Every last crumb."

A moment of silence passes. Sebastian lets his eyes drift over Ciel's face, from the tiny frown of concentration to the way his ankles are crossed. Sebastian raises an eyebrow, his expression bland. “What’s there to know?” he drawls. “They’re rich brats who run everything in their school. Hardly matters. They put me in a tight spot.”

Sebastian never will be willing to give in easily. He may act like Undertaker’s regular, or some innocent cookery student, but you don’t have to look too hard to find an array of other truths underneath the surface.

Considering the various roles combating for dominance, Ciel tries to think of the implications of this.Sebastian will be difficult to control if someone else has him cornered, he thinks. He sighs. “What do you mean by that?” He asks slowly.

Sebastian echoes Ciel’s sigh, but his expression is altogether undeterred. In fact, his lips twitch. “Do you want me to tell you that everything will be ok? That nothing happened?” His voice is rich, teasing.

He is met with stony silence. Ciel has been surprised one too many in the past weeks.

From farther back in the apartment a cat meows. Not inside. Ciel hopes. Maybe it’s outside the window.

“Sebastian is involved in a murder incident.” Gregory had said. So he’s keeping secrets. I knew that much, if not about any murder…but what does that mean to me?

He’s not denying it, either… Ciel edges forward. “So you mean that it’s true. That you were involved in a murder incident.”

Sebastian tilts his head. “The information’s there. It’s a matter of public record.” He smiles. “My involvement is, of course, hardly worth mentioning…”

Ciel falls back against the chair. “I will look it up you know.” He wonders what he should say next. Where this new, unexpected game might take them.

Sebastian takes the opportunity to turn the tables on Ciel, starting a line of questioning of his own. “In the name of the Phantomhive’s reputation, why don’t you tell me what you think your father’s up to?” His eyes glitter.

“You plan on finishing your assignment?” Ciel snorts, unamused.

“No.” Sebastian actually laughs, and he shakes his hair from his eyes. “Ciel, if that wasn’t me being fired, I don’t know what is.”

“Oh…”

“You can ask me worse questions, if you want. More personal…gritty details.” He leans against the wall, sticking a pose.

A long moment passes as Ciel gathers his thoughts. He thinks about the conversation he heard over the phone, his aunt’s words with his father. Finally, he thinks about their lack of funds. Confiding in Sebastian might not be the safest bet, but…

Slowly, he begins. “I think he’s been cornered by one of the chairmen. He’s letting others run most everything—he’s not even in the office very often.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Honestly, he’s more interested in his hobby…”

“Which is?”

“Helping the police solve crimes.”

“Oh my.” The conservative phrase sounds ironic coming from Sebastian.

“Yeah.” Ciel looks defeated. “He’s made something of a name for himself…” He picks up a pillow and kneads it.

Sebastian considers the announcement. “So he’s on the public’s side after all?”

Ciel laughs darkly. “More like the country’s. Not the public.”

“We could make his good deeds known….” Sebastian muses. Then he sighs. “But, then if he falls too far, it’ll be all the more obvious…”

“Yes, quite.” Ciel agrees. “So, we should confirm his misdeeds if there are any, and rectify any that need addressing.” He pulls at the sleeve of his hoodie. How we do that is another question…

“Might I recommend—”

“No hacking.” Ciel deadpans.

“Yes. I was going to suggest you do an investigation for yourself. Look at his papers, check his phone messages…and if you are with me, perhaps we could follow him. See what he does in person.” Sebastian’s smile is coaxing, gentle.

Ciel stares for a moment. “And why can’t I just ask him?”

“Would you be honest with anyone, if you had faulted?” Sebastian counters. “No. Best to see what he does without knowledge of your curiosity…” he snickers. “If you could keep quiet, that is.”  
Ciel blushes, but says nothing.

After a moment of silence, he looks again to the room. Studies the simplicity, and notices a complete lack of photos. His own family has photos on the walls, on desks in small silver frames, in albums shelved by warm fireplaces, and pictures sketched and filed all about his mother and father’s studies. Their family’s history, his mother’s childhood, it’s all within easy reach.

But Sebastian has nothing on display here. Maybe, Ciel thinks, he’s just private…maybe it’s in his bedroom…

“Tell me about your past. About the incident they threatened you with.” He says slowly. “Investigating you is too damned difficult. Tell me already, or get the hell out of my life,” Ciel demands.

Sebastian nods slowly. “You should text your family. Tell them you’ll be out late…studying.” His smile is long and ironic. “Otherwise they might assume someone kidnapped you again.”

Ciel throws a pillow at Sebastian. “I’m still not sure you didn’t have anything to do with that, you know. Your timing was just a little too good, you cellphone stalker.”

Sebastian chuckles. He’s quiet for a long moment, collecting words and remembering. At last, he speaks. “There was a boy I was familiar with. He died as a result of our...acquaintance.”

Ciel leans forward to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc...


	11. Into the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian remembers his childhood, and those incidents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3rd person past, as Sebastian is remembering this. We will rejoin Ciel when we're done remembering. These are a collection of memories, and thus are short and sweet, with soft breaks, not hard scene cuts. Enjoy!

**Chapter 11:** _into the past_

Sebastian didn't remember if there ever was a time that he didn't know his father was a policeman. And by six years old, he realized that his father was crooked.

Sebastian fingered the police uniform, examining the spots. He'd just have to ignore the oil and grease stains; he didn't know how to deal with those. But he put the "color safe stain remover" on it anyway. The bloodstains however, would need different treatment. He traced the small spots, imagining the legal and illegal ways his father might have acquired them.

_Maybe he got them taking a witness in. A bloody one. Or maybe he hit the witness._

The state of the boxers, however, suggested otherwise.

Sebastian made his way to the sitting room. The telly was on. His father wasn't a fat man, for all his drinking and bad ways, but he wasn't as thin and tall as Sebastian one day would be. Sebastian knew his father noticed him come in by his sudden stillness. He didn't quite wince away, but he didn't lean in or laugh at the program like he might have.

"If you're hungry, there's stuff in there," he gestured to the kitchen, "for pasta and sandwiches." Stiffly, he looked back to the program.

"I already made stew yesterday. Do you want leftovers?" Sebastian replied, less than enthusiastic.

"Right. Right. Because all six year olds can cook _stew._ " He sighed and turned his eyes back to the program.

Sebastian's intelligence made him strange, but his emotions were what made his father wary. "You used to laugh, when you were a baby, when somebody cried. I would burn my hand on the cooker, and you'd giggle…" He took a drink of something amber. _Beer, or maybe whiskey,_ Sebastian wondered.

"Drinking is bad for you," Sebastian said solemnly, but he smiled even as he scolded. That caution, that borderline fear, fascinated him. His father was not a stupid man—he recognized something dangerous in his son.

"I want to talk about Mummy." Sebastian fixed his eyes on his father's, studying him for any hint of reaction. But his father only froze, watching Sebastian like a rabbit does a fox.

"You said she died." Sebastian smiled faintly. "I looked it up on the police database. She died of coke overdose. There's a police record and everything." He paused. "Doesn't that mean that I should have been born addicted or something?"

The man in the chair sputtered and scoffed. "What? Of course not! What are you trying to imply?" He cleared his throat, waggling his eyebrows in indignant confusion. "Your mother was not a whore. I never brought her in. She was a—a lady of quality. We met," his mouth worked, searching for words, "at a pub," he said cheerily, but with an air of bravado. He stuck his chin out stubbornly, as though daring his son to contradict him.

Sebastian stared. "Last time you said she was a childhood friend."

His eyes darted to the side. "…stew." He looked back, their eyes meeting for the barest fraction of a second. "Well. Warm us up some stew then."

_._

_._

_Any normal child would already be asleep,_ Sebastian rationalized. _He thinks I can't hear._ There it was again—that noise. A woman's voice, high pitched and whining, followed by a rhythmic thumping.

Irate, Sebastian tried to come up with a solution to the problem. He thought of one swiftly enough. First, he rubbed his fist into his eyes, pressing until they were suitably swollen. He wondered if he should find a stuffed toy or blanket to drag against the floor in a parody of Darling's youngest boy in Peter Pan, but he decided against it. All of his toys were disfigured.

Then, he wandered, shuffling not-so-quietly, to the master bedroom. He didn't knock. He just pushed the door open, rubbing at his eyes once more. "Daddy—" his high-pitched voice cut through the surprised sounds from the bed.

His father swore and hopped away, leaving the woman handcuffed to the bedpost. He scrambled for his clothes and a scrap of privacy, moving with a muttered, "Come on now."

Sebastian was swiftly hustled out, but not before he saw the crushed notes in her purse, and noticed the sweet smell of smoke, like a sickly flower, in the air.

"Do you think this is a game?" His father level with his son, leaning down awkwardly.

"No. But if you do, I don't mind playing." Sebastian gave a rare grin, looking more like the innocent child he ought be.

"You're a monster," his father muttered.

"And you're a hell of a bobbie," Sebastian countered.

He went back to bed; the flat was finally quiet enough to sleep.

.

.

After that, Sebastian learned what it meant to be obsessed.

He started following his dad—becoming his tiny black shadow—and photographed his misdeeds. Over the course of a few months, he enjoyed making a portfolio of evidence, which he tucked into a manila envelope. Each photograph was dated, and receipts—when found—were clipped to them. Memos were typed and printed. He didn't want anyone to recognize his wobbly cursive.

After the envelope was finished, he showed it to his father. While the man had his tea, he pushed it over to his side of the table. When it touched his fingers, he asked, "What's this?"

Sebastian smiled. "Open it."

When he did, his father had to clear more space. He fingered one photograph, and hurriedly flipped to the next. He paled, flushed, and then paled again. As he read the files, his fingers trembled.

Sebastian smiled still, when his father drank too much. When he sobbed, his apologies wet with spittle, beer, and utter loss of control. He reveled in these drunken, sobbing apologies. But the feeling died out, leaving him bored and empty.

Sebastian watched, his eyes cold, his face blank. His father's misery was no longer interesting.

"I'll _resign._ " he claimed, with all the sincerity of an addict swearing he'll quit.

"Why?" Sebastian asked. He shrugged. Such short-lived satisfaction.

.

.

After The Incident, Sebastian wasn't sure if he meant for it to play out like that or not. Can a child, even a very intelligent one, really understand the repercussions of death?

"I was playing on the tracks," Sebastian later told the police. "I know I shouldn't have." His voice was quiet, tentative. He hoped they put it down as shock.

The bobbies gave him a cup of hot cocoa and asked him again. "How did your father wind up on the track?" Their voices were wary, tired, no matter who asked it.

Sebastian knew they thought he pushed him. Some old busy body told them she saw him do it. "A thin boy pushed a police officer—right after that same police helped him up," she said.

Sebastian said he fell.

They found the manila envelope that very afternoon. The local police officer's tragic accident wasn't looked into after that.

Alone at last, Sebastian remembered his father's face. The paralyzing fear in his expression when he realized he was stuck and a train was coming.

His father looked up, his eyes wide and strained. He shook his feet, shuffled, and tried to move his bigger body. Sebastian, lithe and fast, nimbly leapt away.

Over the noise of the wheels, the squeaking emergency breaks,Sebastian couldn't hear well, but he thought he saw his father's mouth move.

"Sebastian?"

Sebastian remembered, and smiled a crooked smile.

Then it occurred to him. _I wonder if we were even related at all?_ Maybe he should have thought of that before… He can't imagine how his intelligent, crooked father could have fallen for such child's play.

Sebastian, after all, had known the time table for the train, knew the perfect spot that was just right for a child to play, and just the place where an adult's larger size would be a disadvantage. And fall. Especially if he panicked.

So, what of it? The man was dead either way.

* * *

oOoOoOoOoOo

Sebastian first saw Charles Grey in the hallway, glowering at some underclassmen. Neither party noticed him waiting for the math teacher.

"He could pass any entrance exam he wanted," the lower classman said, oblivious to Grey`s disapproving stare. "It's just a matter of how long he can stay in."

"So he's a real troublemaker, then is he?" Charles drawled. "I don't care if he's the devil himself. Cretin like you shouldn't be gabbing in the hallway." His pale eyes caught sight of Sebastian at last.

Sebastian noted his freshly pressed uniform—it was clearly better cared for. Their eyes met, but Sebastian looked away; he didn't see anything that interested him.

It wouldn't be for several weeks before they traded words.

.

.

"Mr. Grey, you need to understand more about your condition. You can't try and act like there's nothing wrong—"

"What do you mean, 'my condition?' Don't waste my time without clear test results. I won't have you talking me into unnecessary treatment. I'll talk with the doctor, not some upstart nurse."

Charles Grey and Sebastian Michaelis were both in ER, Charles because he'd collapsed at school, and Sebastian because his guardian was having his hand stitched up.

"Oh no, you can't stay here alone. I don't care if I bleed all over the passenger seat as well, I'll tie you to the car if I have to, but you can't stay where I can't see you." The big man had blustered, even as his hand bled. The matter settled—Sebastian didn't care one way or the other—Sebastian accompanied him to hospital.

Next to Grey, the nurse left with a scowl.

Sebastian looked at Charles with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. He'd heard about this Charles Grey. As member of society, he was as spoilt and arrogant as one would imagine, but there was something about that arrogance that caught Sebastian's interest.  
"Oh, well if it isn't the charity case."

Even while being insulting, he smiled. Not ever enough to show teeth.

Grey stretched leisurely. "Are you just here for kicks? I never would have thought those stories were true."

Sebastian shrugged. "And you're here for a checkup. Feeling poorly?"

Charles yawned. "Not too bad. I overdid it in P.E."

Sebastian considered the other boy, noting his pale completion and small stature. He surmised that it was not a new diagnosis, but rather, something Charles had dealt with for some time. Sebastian said nothing.

"I bet you get off on all the pain and blood in the A&E," he scoffed. "Everyone knows you're a complete psychopath." Charles's eyes glittered with interest. He waited for Sebastian to reply, but after a moment, he continued when Sebastian said nothing. "I heard you pulled one over the teachers."

Sebastian looked the other boy up and down, trying to determine why Charles was interested in talking to him at all.. "Are you asking for details or advice?"

Charles scoffed. "Like I need advice from you—you were found out right? Someone stopped you." The gloating tone didn't quite cover his curiosity. "I rather think you're in need of advice yourself."

 _Ah, so that's it._ Sebastian thought. "Is that so? And you would be the person to go to, is that it?" He walked slowly over to the cot, enjoying the way Charles stiffened as he approached . "You want to be mates. Go for a walk on the dark side." Sebastian reached out to straighten the collar of Charles shirt.

Charles smacked Sebastian's hand away. "Hardly. But I wouldn't mind—" he closed his mouth sharply.

Sebastian didn't know the details of Charles' diagnosis, but he took a gamble, guessing that Charles himself might not be willing to face the details. "You've got one of those giant hearts. You won't live to be twenty."

"So what? I'll live will until then. Life is better if you play from time to time." His smile never wavered.

Sebastian frowned. "You couldn't keep up with me."

"Try me."

And so Sebastian began an elaborate lie, playing off of Charles' willed ignorance surrounding his illness. Slowly, Sebastian fed him a story, urging him to believe he was dying, all the while pushing him to do ever more.

Who would yield first?

oOoOoOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters always take more time (and story) than I originally anticipate. XD So, let me know! Do you want the details of Grey and Sebastian's friendship, or are you not interested? If not interested, what do you want to see?
> 
> The alternate story-line is not finished yet. Sorry. . .will let you know when it is.


	12. Young Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian remembers secondary school, and one Charles Grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** continuing with Sebastian’s past. Hope you enjoy his flirtations with the dramatic, the perverse, and what dangers he could find. 
> 
> UK English: Six form is the 2 years before you go to University. It’s like jyukensei in Japan, or seniors in American high school. 
> 
> Special thanks to Carrie, for being such a big support, and The Phantom of the Fiction for your critical and helpful review. 
> 
> **A/N2** : (for those of you who also wondered, I originally made Sebastian six because I don’t _really_ want the authorities to think he’s a murder. He’d be sent to a correction facility for juveniles, and then where would he learn his pretty manners? Though if you like, you can imagine him as 9, 11 or 13, and make up the difference between Ciel and Sebastian’s age as you like. )

**Chapter 12:** _young devils._

"What do you make of that?" Grey smiled cruelly.  
  
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Sloppy. Everyone knows you set them up."  
  
"But their romance is not meant to be,” Charles sighed dramatically. "You’ll see. They’ll be more awkward and hurt by the end than they started.” Charles’ laughter was rich with arrogant cruelty.  
  
Sebastian doubted that the other boy realized his scheming manipulation was  cruel at all. The pampered son of the Grey’s was rarely suspected of cruelty— he was simply thought to show the 'well deserved' pride of the nobility.  
  
Charles had started hanging around the notorious Sebastian Michaelis at the beginning of the sixth form. For his part, didn’t shoo Charles away. He considered Charles’s actions and words. Wondered at what made him tick.  
  
"You’re not the cleverest in the sixth form, Sebastian. People will recognize my skills soon enough."  
  
Sebastian didn’t think of his own reputation, no longer quiet, so mysterious, no longer a loner. Sebastian’s indifference to the other boy started to be chipped away, replaced with a burning curiosity bordering on obsession.  
  
"Prove it," Sebastian said out of the blue one windy afternoon in autumn. In comparison to Grey’s cheerful smile, he was calm. Expressionless. Only his bright eyes revealed the depth of his interest. "Show me how daring you are…"  
  
"What are you talking about?" Charles scoffed.  
  
"You said students and faculty would recognize your skill. That you would  be the most notorious in the entire sixth form."  
  
"Come now, that’s not quite what I said."  
  
"Then consider it a challenge." Sebastian stretched his mouth into an approximation of a smile.  
  
And so, Sebastian began a string of dares, testing Charles’s limits.

 

* * *

  
  
“You fancy Chloe,” Sebastian purred. “Why don’t you ask her out?”  
  
The boys stood in an abandoned lot. The house was locked, windows boarded, and someone mentioned a demolition program being scheduled, but neither knew when it would be. Sebastian had settled himself in the shadow of a tree, and Charles leaned against a wall.  
  
Charles looked curiously at Sebastian. “Strange that you noticed. I thought the gentler affections didn’t interest you.”  
  
Sebastian shrugged. “Lust and obsession,” he pronounced the words slowly, enjoying the amused look it earned him. “I have given those things thought.”  
  
“So. Chloe.” He paused. “What exactly is this about?”  
  
Sebastian smiled. “So you should do something about that, wouldn’t you agree?”  
  
“Yes, well.” He straightened, peering down his nose like a blue-blooded fox. His teeth flashed in a raucous smile, and he leaned in, fingering a loose board. Grey always was doing _something._ “You think I ought to confess my love…? What, with a sonnet or something?” He pried at the board, giving a sour expression.  
  
Sebastian chuckled, low and thick. “Not quite what I was thinking, no.”  
  
“You think I should be…what, more…original?” Grey continued to pick at the board, applying enough pressure for it to creak loudly.  
  
Sebastian held his tongue. If he wanted Grey to do as he planned…  
  
“Like what?” Grey frowned.  
  
“All ventures are more successful with a bit of planning, wouldn’t you say?” Sebastian suggested. “If you were to find out what the girl likes…see where her interests lie  before you talked with her…”  
  
Grey shrugged. “You want me to talk to her friends first.”  
  
“On the contrary. Human mouths spread lies…you should think about these things from a first person perspective.” He paused. “You need _evidence,_ Master Grey.”  
  
Charles snorted lightly. “What exactly are you suggesting, Michaelis?” The board snapped in his hand, leaving him with a long stick.  
  
“A scouting party…on the lady’s terrain.”  
  
“How?” Grey tapped at the broken board impatiently.  
  
Sebastian waited a moment, savoring the confused expression, the grudging curiosity that Grey so rarely showed. “I think you could figure that out.”  
  
“Ah. You want me to sneak around her locker or—”  
  
“School is not where a girl hides her secrets, or where she flaunts her secret passions. You would find it in her _bedroom._ "  
  
Grey laughed. He closed his eyes and dropped his head with his good humor, and his slender shoulders shook with amusement. When his laughter subsided, he looked up at Sebastian with proud, silver eyes. “You aren’t serious.”  
  
“Of course I am.” Sebastian smirked. “Unless…you couldn’t do it? Even if said young lady was  away?”  
  
And so it was that Sebastian talked Charles Grey into walking into the girl’s family room later that evening. Charles was dressed appropriately: black trousers and a trim-fitted shirt, and an overly baggy hat pulled low on his head, safely disguising his near-transparent silver hair. The most remarkable feat, though, was how he managed the swift (and near soundless) entry.  
  
It was impressive, Sebastian had to admit. Charles broke into her room through the flimsy latch on the window, and hedged it open with the grace of a seasoned burglar.  
  
But Charles couldn’t stay completely silent. “Good, isn’t it?” he called quietly, pitching his voice so Sebastian—safely hidden in the boughs of the nearby tree—could hear him. “I’ve been wanting to show you.”  
  
Sebastian did not comment.  
  
“I do this at home sometimes, you know. When I don’t want to be missed.”  
  
_Well._ Sebastian thought. _Isn’t that interesting._  
  
Charles proceeded into the room. He rummaged around for something of interest, opening and closing drawers. He was about to open her wardrobe, when the door opened.  
  
The girl, Chloe, stared in shock. Her mouth worked silently.  
  
Charles, panicked, made a placating gesture with one hand. He moved gingerly, stepping back at last.  
  
She screamed.  
  
Grey, in a great hurry now to get out of the room, flung himself out the window and into the shadows.  
  
Sebastian could only laugh as she tossed various things out after him, pelting him with a variety of missiles.  
  
Charles would hardly speak of the episode after that. Sebastian remembered it with fond amusement. _Charles could be such a fool._

 

* * *

 

 

oOoOo

  
  
Sebastian remembered the last exhilarating date, trying to make the experience be _enough._ But it wasn't enough. Past rushes were only that-- a vague memory of being engaged. At times, even that seemed more like a taunting reminder of how boring things were at the present.  
  
Sebastian sighed.  
  
Picking up on Sebastian’s dark mood, Charles had not said anything. He threw darts at a spray painted target on the dilapidated wall of the old house, going through the motions with the ease of an experienced player.  
  
“Do you remember the time—” he began.  
  
“Yes.” Sebastian’s voice cut him off.  
  
Charles stiffened, pulled his shoulders back, and looked down on Sebastian with all the dignity he could muster. He ignored the interruption and began again. “Do you remember the time we borrowed my family’s car?” His smile was a pale imitation of the manic excitement he had displayed that night. “I drove us on the safety rail on _two_ wheels for a couple of seconds.”  
  
“Before you crashed,” Sebastian reminded him.  
  
“Fuck you.” Charles frowned. “I still get grief for that you know.” He tested the point of a dart, wincing as the sharp end cut his fingertip.  
  
_The car sped down the country road, humming loudly. The two boys strained to keep their expressions suitably stoic, but neither particularly succeeded. Charles looked practically manic from time to time, his grin was so wide, and his pupils nearly pin pricks. Sebastian’s expression was  more subtle; he wore  an almost sated smile._  
  
“But you enjoyed it,” Sebastian purred. Grey always enjoyed Sebastian’s more dangerous games. Almost as though he were testing his limits, desperate to appear the healthy dare devil. As though each stunt could erase his condition.  
  
Never mind he was left with bluish lips and was clearly short of breath. Sebastian never failed to notice when he rubbed at his chest, as if massaging the area could make the pain go away.  
  
“So,” Charles smiled. “You have any more interesting ideas?”  
  
Sebastian shrugged. “We could always try stealing something.”  
  
“You’re impossible when you’re bored.”

 

* * *

  
oOoOo  
  
Late one evening, while the boys worked on an extra-credit project for school, the lights flickered. The two boys looked up simultaneously, but when they did not flicker again, they went back to work. Sebastian was paging through one of the textbooks, a notebook by his side and a laptop opened next to him. Grey had claimed the area around the desk, and so Sebastian lounged, sprawled over the bedroom floor as though he had every right to be there.  
  
He supposed he did.  
  
“Read the assignment to me again?” Grey mutters. “I read too many headlines to keep the details straight...” He glared at the flickering lights, as though it was their fault he couldn't concentrate.  
  
“Explore happiness in modern communities, and how society and family play a role in it. We decided to focus on how ‘happiness’ is dependent on family stability, though not necessarily income. Find articles that back that up.”  
  
Grey sighed. “I still think that income has everything to do with it. Your foster family isn't so posh, and they seem like ghouls. Always skulking about when I’m here, and trying to suck up to me.” He snorted. “At least they recognize their betters.”  
  
Sebastian shrugged. “They do seem to think that someone of your status has had positive effects on me…I wonder...perhaps it's the other way around...”  
  
“As if.” Charles sighed, but a smile played at his lips. “Look at this one… ‘Teens enjoy the simple things in life.’” Grey read off the heading and scoffs. “Even at fifteen, I knew what was important in life.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Rank!” He paused dramatically. “Status.”  
  
Finding a weakness, Sebastian pointed at another article on the laptop. “Listen. ‘The overclass is the real threat to society.’”    
  
“What does _that_ mean? Clearly, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Charles idly scratched   the notebook paper. “He’s just jealous.”  
  
“…so.” Sebastian mused. “Society. Happiness. Are you…happy, Grey?”  
  
Charles’ gaze slid over to Sebastian with suspicion. “No matter what I say, you’re going to twist it around.”  
  
“I won’t, really.” Sebastian laughed. “Are you happy?”  
  
“You answer first.”  
  
Sebastian gave a long, contemplating _hmm,_ enjoying Grey’s impatient discomfort. “I have a great deal more freedom with this family,” he said  at last. “And at school.”  
  
Grey smirked at that. “See? Rank _is_ important.” He shook his head imperiously, closing his laptop to move toward Sebastian. He sat and leaned against the four-poster bed. “It’s thanks to your association with _me._ ”  
  
Sebastian looked at the fair-haired young man, as though considering their proximity. “And? What is _your_ answer?”  
  
“You didn’t say if you were happy or not.” Grey snorted.  
  
“I am. In my own way,” Sebastian clarified.  
  
“…well. I suppose I am. Happy. I can _die_ in peace…” Charles said melodramatically.  
  
Bored with the conversation, Sebastian ignored that last. He looked around the room for new distractions. He picked himself up from the floor languidly, ambling over to the wardrobe.  
  
Charles sighed, but did not comment.  
  
Sebastian picked up a belt.  
  
“Hey.” Charles raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” When Sebastian didn’t immediately reply, he continued. “Somehow…I don’t like to see you carrying that.”  
  
Sebastian pulled out handcuffs from his trousers pocket. “These used to be my father’s...” The belt in one hand, the handcuffs in the other, he was  silhouetted against the light.  
  
“Oh.” Charles looked at him with a dubious, distrusting air.  
  
“How far would you go?” Sebastian’s lips stretched thin. He sat on the bed, daring Charles to join him.  
  
Charles clambered onto the bed and leaned his head on Sebastian’s shoulder.  
  
Sebastian shifted. He was preoccupied, lost in a confused jumble of half-formed plans. He had Grey where he wanted him. _Now what to do with him?_    
  
Charles was unaware of the lapse. He took slow, deep breathes, and measured his heartbeat.    
  
At last, Sebastian turned his head to rest his forehead against Charles’. Their lips met.  
  
Grey smirked, and leaned in. He traced the line of Sebastian’s cheek with a few light kisses, and nibbled at his neck. Pondered what Sebastian would do if he—  
  
\-- _click._  
  
Sebastian fastened the handcuffs around Charles’ delicate wrist, and then to the bed. His expression was one of complete satisfaction.  
  
“Shall we?”  
  
Charles sputtered. “What—?”  
  
“Check, and _mate._ ” Sebastian laughed softly.

 

* * *

  
oOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc…
> 
> A/N: so. Young devils indeed. How do you find Grey?


	13. With this knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian watches his classmate, Charles Grey, change under his influence.

Sebastian walked down the rainy street aimlessly. He thought of Charles, of memories they shared, trying to feel _something_ \-- a sense of guilt, loss or dry affection at the least.   
  
But the appeal of Charles Gray, that obsession, had withered.  
.  
.   
  
He felt nothing.  
.  
.  
The clouds were a mass of grey in the sky. The rain continued to fall. It was cold, and his feet hit the pavement lightly. His trainers were probably ruined. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.  
  
“You there,” a voice stopped him. “Sebastian Michaelis, isn’t it?” The gang of boys, all in lower forms and yet standing as though they owned the world. He didn’t recognize any of them, but he did know their uniform. Weston College…a couple of students preparing for University. Probably Weston University.  
  
“What?” Sebastian looked on, his eyes glassy.   
  
“I heard the family is going to press charges. Manslaughter, was it? Or are they going all out…?” It was one of the taller boys, fair-haired with a penchant for green accessories and a serious expression.   
  
“Charging a sixth-former with _murder._ ” A petite, dark haired boy said it carefully. As though testing the words for sound. A poet?  
  
Sebastian shook his head. “Sorry? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He didn’t want to speak with these posh boys. They looked like a brand of trouble he couldn’t talk his way out of.  
  
Another blond stepped forward. “Heart failure, wasn’t it? Stupid…or cruel hearted, perhaps, to make him run…we heard he had a known heart condition.”  
  
. _His feet pounded against the black earth. The colors of dying leaves, rotting on the path, merged with the mist. It made the woods into an off-colored impressionistic painting.  
  
The moon was still barely visible, a pale ghost of itself in the early morning light. The sky was still greyy, and clouds were on the horizon. There was a haunting chill to the air that penetrated even Sebastian’s fascination.  
  
He stopped, and his feet stirred up a small cloud of dust. He looked down at the boy, his lithe form for once still. Unmoving, after a lifetime of impatient, restless motion._  
  
“What were you doing so early in the morning?” The pale, dark haired boy’s voice was openly curious. He didn’t act his age.   
  
“Going on a run?” This was the second blond, the one with hair so long it brushed past his shoulders. “Why?”  
  
 _An uncommon haircut,_ Sebastian thought.  
  
“Everyone says you always pushed him too far.”　The gangly, fourth boy said , pushing his glasses up his nose. He was lanky, sure to grow in the next few years. Might even match Sebastian in height. “A reckless influence.”  
  
“It was his choice,” Sebastian whispered. His emotions were pale reflections of what everyone else seemed to feel—grief, anger, shock. _They all have a manic desire to go back, as though this never happened._ Sebastian shook his head. _But it did happen. And when did they realize it?_   
  
“How are you feeling?” The gothic kid was getting annoying.   
  
Sebastian continued to think, and turned away from the group. _To pin the blame on Charles’ partner…was altogether distasteful._ “I was his friend, it’s true…but it _was his choice._ I never made him run anywhere. He could have stayed behind.”   
  
“The family says you goaded him. Forced him on…you mocked him and teased him until you manipulated him into doing something he wouldn’t ordinarily do.”   
  
Sebastian scoffed. “Charles was always toeing the line. He didn’t need _me_ to push him.”  
  
“Why didn’t you call emergency services then?”　The first boy spoke up, the sporty kid. “An ambulance. A doctor. They might have been able to help him.”  
  
Sebastian cocked his head. “No. He was dead.” He dismissed the idea immediately.   
  
“The world only has your word on that…”   
  
Sebastian looked down his nose, frowning at the younger boys. Before, he might have been near expressionless, but then he clearly appeared short of temper.  
  
“Why should I answer to you? A bunch of powerless, albeit rich, brats. What are you here for?” His eyes were hard, his mind more active. “I despise hangers on and prying brats.”  
  
“If they’re going to press charges, you'll need money,” the long-haired one said. “Let's make a deal....”  
  
“Why should I believe that you could do anything? And why would you want to?” Sebastian let the rain streak down his face. His gaze was cold, dismissive.  
  
“Don't you recognize even one of us?" The blond lifted his chin, haughty for all of his youth. “Our families are very well known in this area...we vacation here on holiday, sometimes. Charmingly scenic countryside and all that. I'm Edgar Redmond, this is Lawrence Bluer, Herman Greenhill and this is Gregory Violet.” He gestured to each boy in turn.   
  
The boys stood at lazy attention, each one nodding in greeting. Greenhill seemed particularly miffed that Sebastian didn’t recognize them on sight, but Sebastian was vaguely aware of their family names.  
  
“Ah. The families who hold the summer night ball,” he sighed. Sebastian considered the four, calculating. If the families of these boys pressure the local law to not prosecute him, or provide him with enough money for a proper lawyer, for certain his position could not get worse. _But what sort of price do they expect to exhort?_ “And what do you expect of me? Exactly what services are you proposing?”  
  
The boys exchanged glances.  
  
“If you only promise a ‘good word’ from yourselves, and not your mothers and fathers, it would do me about as much good as a promise from a drunkard. Unless your collective allowances are enough to pay my legal fees?” Sebastian scoffed.   
  
“Come talk with us inside. I want out of this weather.” Greenwood’s lip curled. “I'm sure we can work out a contract good enough to satisfy even a demon like you.”  
  
Sebastian considered the gamble. But what else did he have? No other choice presented itself to him. He followed the P4 into the mist, leaving his old life behind him.  
  


* * *

oOoOo

  
  
Sebastian stares at the bookshelf, and the clock ticks on.  
  
Ciel makes a noise next to him.  
  
"So? Tell me about your little secret." He frowns, impatience making him short tempered. Ciel holds his breath, half expecting Sebastian to withhold his story after all. But Sebastian speaks.  
  
“I don't come from a respectable family, Ciel. My father was a criminal, though that wasn't discovered until after his death. I never knew my mother, and I grew up in a variety of places. Distant relatives who had a spare bedroom, sometimes, but more often a school with a dormitory.” He meets Ciel's eyes, and smiles faintly. “I rarely failed to acquire some scholarship.”  
  
Silence fills the room for several long moments. Ciel barely dares to breathe, fearing that the smallest question will cause Sebastian to retreat back into his usual taciturn ways.   
  
“I came to a country town...to live with a couple without any children. The P4 were there, though they were still in primary school. I met my first obsession.” Sebastian’s smile is ironic and cruelly teasing.  
  
Ciel shifts uncomfortably. ‘First’ was an unsettling word... _it suggests,_ he thought glumly, _that there were others..._  
  
“Charles Grey was a real aristocrat. We got on well...he was arrogant, cruel and beautiful....he also suffered from a heart condition.” Sebastian pauses, and he lazily moves a piece of his hair from his eyes. “I got him into trouble just by associating with him, but he...didn't turn me away. But I'm afraid that's what killed him. ” Sebastian drops his chin and his gaze.  
  
Ciel supposes, _he’s gotten fed up with that saying, I can tell. He’s only saying it so I think it’s the worst he’s done._ His lips thin. _maybe._  
  
“I pressured him into pushing himself. I won’t say I didn’t know about his condition,” Sebastian continues. “I also never asked him about it, what he could or couldn’t handle. One morning we went for a run…and he had a heart attack.”  
  
 _What kind of person pressures a boy with heart problems?_ Ciel wonders darkly. _But…I suppose it’s in his nature. Like a cat, toying with its food…_ He pulls at his sleeve. _Or does he even feel the same things I would?_ A sudden chill makes him sit up straighter. _He might not…might not think there’s anything wrong with a game like that._   
  
“A heart attack,” Ciel repeats slowly.   
  
“Grey was always reckless,” Sebastian murmurs quietly.   
  
“So how did the P4 come into this?” Ciel asks dubiously.   
  
“I wouldn’t know. Even as children, they sought out pawns for their games. They seemed to be interested in manipulating their societies. I suspect they heard rumors, and came to see how they could profit.” Sebastian closes his eyes. Irritation shapes his shoulders at the mention of the boys.   
  
“What did they ask?”  
  
“They asked me to look up things for them. At first, they wanted to check the reputations of their would-be professors, ask around for the various fields at Weston University before they entered. I suppose some of that information was useful…they became prefects with relative ease.” He shrugs. “Later, they asked for background checks on others. I am rather good with a computer, you know. Such a thing is not so difficult.”   
  
Ciel looks at Sebastian with interest. The way Sebastian has spun this particular story is enough to put the clues into a feasible, cohesive story. Sebastian was outmaneuvered by circumstances, a town’s powerful families, and then the P4’s blackmail. He knew Sebastian to be cunning, mysterious, and altogether capable of taking care of a few nosy students. _So it makes sense that he started out under their feet long ago._ Before Sebastian became the daring, unbeatable dom Ciel knows.  
  
“And then they sent their dog to get information on one of their alumni’s son,” Ciel scoffs.   
  
Sebastian smiles and does not deny the truth. “But I tire of their games. They can try to get charges pressed, but I don't know that they'll try. I will guard their secrets only as long as it serves my interests.” Sebastian shrugs. “And now that alumni's son has my contract. Or at least, my word. You said you would clear your father's name...”  
  
“But not for them," Ciel insists. "And you don't need to put your nose into it.”   
  
“If you insist. But I would enjoy a challenge...” Sebastian’s voice is like honey.  
  
“No. Just stay out of my family affairs.”  
  
“You want to be rid of me, then?” Teasing now, Sebastian tries an unconvincing pout. “Wouldn't it be more effective to work together?”  
  
Ciel hesitates. Sebastian does have experience in background checks, and is certainly more qualified than Ciel. But he is loath to offer an opening to an opponent. Sharing information about his father could be advantageous, but without knowing more, Sebastian could be last person to tell. Sebastian is as cunning as a wild animal avoiding dogs.  
  
But that same man just offered a piece of his history, his own story....and the interest he shows in Ciel seems real enough, if not conventional.  
  
“I have your word, but nothing binding the promise,” he says slowly.   
  
“How many times must I offer myself to you, Ciel Phantomhive? I dislike repeating myself.”   
  
“You were working for them all along,” Ciel complains.   
  
Sebastian offers his wrists to Ciel. “Do you require a blood promise? A wedding ring? A formal marriage proposal?” His voice is like acid. Irate and unforgiving, he is hardly the smooth talking regular he remembers from the bookstore.   
  
“I was working for them. But I had my reasons. You seem the better employer than those spoilt boys. Or at least, a bit more interesting.” Sebastian settles back into his normal speaking patterns, irritation fading as quickly as a candle is blown out.  
  
Ciel considers the implications. _Loyalty_ isn’t something you can buy. And _trust_ is something that he doesn’t give lightly—if at all.   
  
Sebastian clears his throat. “I was bored. They offer interesting jobs, and decent pay. Even if they try to force me into every agreement with blackmail.”  
  
“Ah,” says Ciel. “You were bored.”  
  
This he understands. Vincent, in a fit of boredom, once took apart his office—down to stripping and fiddling with the computer insides and the floor carpet. Another time, he took a hunting trophy from his sister, Frances, played with the hide, and stitched a plush-bear for his then-small son and wife. This, in one day. _Perhaps Sebastian is like that, too. Bored until a puzzle strikes him—and then determined to see it to the end._  
  
“And what would you do, Sebastian? To find out what my father is doing?”  
  
Sebastian smiles his thin smile. His eyes glint in the dim light. “Follow him. Or at least, watch him work.”  
  
Ciel stretches, rolling his shoulders and considering. _Sebastian seems legitimately interested…_ He looks at his hands, and at the class ring his father had gifted him for luck on exams. It shimmered in the dim light. _Well. If he isn’t what he says he is…I could always just keep him close to watch him._   
  
“And you’ll know when he gets a job?” Ciel is skeptical. He rarely hears of the incident until after it's finished. Solved, and neatly tucked away in his Dad’s study.  
  
“It so happens that he's being phoned now...there was an unusual...case... just off the motorway.”   
  
Ciel frowns. “What? How did—”  
  
“Ah, but young master, what kind of servant would I be if I couldn't keep up with what crimes go on in this city?” He sounds so sincere. Almost looks sincere, even.   
  
But even still, Ciel knows when he's being mocked. “You have a police radio,” he accuses.  
  
“I do,” Sebastian admits.  
  
“Why can't I hear it?”  
  
“Shall we be going then?” Sebastian ignores the question and offers a graceful hand to Ciel.   
  
Ciel closes his eyes, and takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc...
> 
> Thoughts? I think I'll wrap this up in 3 or 6 chapters. (Depending on how long-winded I am.) What do you want to see before I finish?
> 
> I will start another fic when I finish this one. :D


	14. That duo, investigating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Ciel look into Vincent Phantomhive's hobby. Then, Vincent has a personal chat with his son at the Bookshop...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed, because I was slow this week. ♥ Will update with edits if I remember...remind me if I missed something ghastly.

In the end, Ciel and Sebastian wound up sleeping at Sebastian’s apartment. 

“Your father declined a midnight investigation; he said there would be little point with such poor lighting and no more immediate threat to safety and the like. Photos have been taken, and the area has been closed off.” Sebastian explained. 

“…but we were—” 

“We’ll follow him in the morning.” Sebastian’s voice is only a little condescending. He looks predatorily at Ciel’s creased clothing and rumpled hair. “You’re falling asleep on your feet. To bed with you, young master...”

Ciel could hardly argue with that.  
.  
.  
When Ciel wakes, he remembers immediately whose flat he’s in. the clean, neat lines, the lack of clutter, and the faint underlying scent of spice. _He could be making breakfast. Or he could be lying in bed._ Ciel opens his eyes.

Sebastian lazily looks back at him. “Good morning. It’s time for the day to begin, Ciel.” His smile is as proud as his tone.

“…how long have you been there?” Ciel pushes to a half-seated position.

Sebastian merely keeps smiling. “Would you prefer scones, pancakes, or porridge with your breakfast?” Without waiting a beat, he continues. “As for teas, I have Assam, chai, and a soft blend of lavender and black tea.”

Ciel slumps. “What time’s the investigation start?”

“Around dawn for the basic investigation. Detectives and Chief constables will be arriving after they’ve been briefed at meeting, around nine, I would say.” He pauses, and finally slows his speech. “Are you still sleepy?”

Ciel rolls onto his side, facing away from Sebastian. “What time is it…?” 

“Seven thirty. I nearly expected you to sleep for much later…” the warmth of Sebastian’s body pressed against him, those long arms resting on his shoulders. 

Ciel coughs. “And miss the opportunity? Hardly.” He closes his eyes anyway, trying to reclaim his fitful dreams.

“Shall I prepare breakfast?” Sebastian asks gently, his voice slightly mocking.

“Do what you please.” Ciel replies.

For some minutes, they lie there, breathing in the scent of spice and Ciel’s night-flower essence. It is both peaceful and unsettling to Ciel. He bites his lip. When Sebastian moves, Ciel notices immediately. He curls in a bit, imprinting the memory as best he can.

He rises.

There are few words between them. Ciel enjoys the delicate aroma of black current pancakes and cream. Sebastian watches him eat. It’s an interesting sight; Sebastian still in soft pajamas, but wearing a cook’s apron.

 _It’s private._ Ciel supposes. _I might like this._

When they get ready to go, Ciel playfully helps Sebastian into more usual clothes. Ciel walks about with a spring in his step, excited to finally be _doing_ something. He looks at Sebastian and smiles cooly. 

“Shall we go, then?” 

With that, they are off.

* * *

The way Vincent Phantomhive looked at the crime scene was unique. Ciel and Sebastian saw him greet the investigating detectives, but they’d apparently exchanged words before. So he passes through the police tape, and heads directly to the spot with the most people loitering. In turn, none of the police seem particularly bothered by his being there. 

If anything, they look relieved. 

“Sir, what do you think about this marking? It looks as though the…” the voices faded out of Ciel’s easy hearing range. 

He moves closer, pressing against Sebastian’s steady form. They are crouched behind a short screen of shrubbery, hidden from sight on pavement meant for pedestrians. In the distance, a man rides his bike on this low-laying path, and another person walks a dog. They should be quite unnoticeable, Ciel thinks.

“We need to get closer.” Ciel mutters. 

“That might not be wise…” Sebastian murmurs.

He moves a little closer to the taller man, forcing Sebastian to step in the direction. Ciel hears a little more, but not enough to make heads or tails of the conversation. He can tell Vincent is speaking little and listening more, apparently gathering information. 

“Ciel, you aren’t doing your boyfriend any favors by hiding beside those bushes. Even Officer Alberline noticed you there.” Vincent calls over. He smiles thinly, torn between amusement at his son’s surprised expression and suspicion at the boy’s presence.

“Boyfriend?” Ciel turns to look sharply at Sebastian as if he might see some embarrassingly obvious giveaway about him and Sebastian.

His ‘boyfriend’ simply chuckles. “We’ve been found out. Come on. Let’s see if he has anything to tell us.”

They close the distance between them. The crime scene spreads out before them from this vantage point. _No wonder he saw us…_ Ciel thinks.  
“What gave us away?” Ciel sticks his chin up.

“That you two are dating? The way you meet each other’s gazes, but you, Ciel, usually break away before looking distinctly down. Also, you stand rather close for friends, and he touched your arm in a rather intimate fashion. The level of attention he gives your every sentence, oh, and his dress shirt’s button is crooked, which suggests that Ciel did it up.”

Ciel looks at the offending button and sighs.

“If you meant how I noticed you lurking about, I think that’s fairly obvious from this vantage point. So, Ciel. What brings you out this morning?”

Ciel fidgets under his father’s gaze, color rushing to his cheeks. “I wanted to see you work.” The excuse sounds flimsy even in his ears. 

Vincent looks from Sebastian to Ciel, quietly waiting. 

_Who will crack first…_ Sebastian finds himself wondering. 

But Ciel has little to lose now that his father has already seen him on the scene. It is the easy choice, the child’s choice. Hand the problem over to mummy and daddy…they’ll know what’s best. “...P4. The prefects from Western University were looking into our family. So I decided to check it out for myself.”

Vincent elegantly arches an eyebrow. “And you thought I’d be traipsing around with the baddies, blowing company money, and generally ruining your future?” 

Ciel’s embarrassed silence is answer enough.

“Listen. I’m not doing anything wrong.” Father considers son, and then Sebastian. “And this is?”

“Sebastian Michaelis, sir. An acquaintance.”

“Not attending Weston University, I assume.” 

“I’m afraid it’s a bit complicated.”

“Yes, it would be.” Vincent looks up and down Sebastian once more, this time looking for clues to his personal life and profession. “You can introduce him to Rachel and I later, I’m sure.” 

Vincent looks out over the rural scenery while he considers the traffic. “You said the victim was thought to be alone? You’re sure?”　He walks away from his son’s conversation as quickly as one might switch away from exchanging pleasantries with a sales clerk.

Ciel stares at his father, his mouth slightly open and gaze vacant. 

They watch Vincent’s back as he retreats into the company of the police officers and investigators.

Sebastian turns to Ciel, and gently lifts Ciel’s chin. “A man of considerable intelligence, I think. Interesting that he lets his business flounder…Do you really think he’d tell you he’s up to no good in broad daylight?”

Ciel snorts. “You wouldn’t take the Queen’s plea of innocence without evidence. You’d doubt even a child.” Ciel is exasperated and embarrassed. If Sebastian can’t convince him of the merits of following Vincent about while he’s at work, his credibility will crumble.

Sebastian clears his throat. “Do you want to stay?” 

Ciel shakes his head, feeling a blush creep up his neck and cheeks. 

They walk back the way they came in silence. At last they reach the bus stop. Sebastian stands just a bit behind Ciel, close enough for Ciel to rest his head against, should he choose. But he doesn’t, and Sebastian feels the silence and the sour tang of a plan not quite gone right. 

“We didn’t learn much.” Ciel says, echoing Sebastian’s thoughts.

“No, we didn't.” Sebastian agrees. He checks his watch. The bus won't come for another twenty minutes. Longer, if the bus is running late.

He reaches for Ciel's thin shoulders, and begins to massage.

Ciel leans away, and fixes Sebastian with a glare. “Not in public. Heel.”  
A smile pulls at his lips.

“Do you really think he'd tell you if he was up to anything?” Sebastian asks. He manages to sound almost bored, indifferent. 

_Or maybe he is._

“In broad day light, so very near police officers.” Sebastian clarifies.

“Clearly you don’t.”

“What's even the point of this? Coming here...this is an official investigation. He's hardly likely to trip up here...” Ciel shoves his hands into his pockets, slouching into a more relaxed position With his shirt untucked and eye patch, he looks the perfect delinquent. 

“We were checking his alibi. Seeing if he actually came to the scene.” 

Ciel lifts his chin. “Is that so? Well. Fair enough. I suppose you have some researching to do…secret hacker techniques you wouldn’t use with me around?” He practically sneers. “Don’t leave any security holes, and don’t take anything that isn’t yours.” He warns.

With that, he heads for home.

Sebastian closes his eyes and whispers, “Yes, my lord.” _For now, I’ll leave your virtue where it is..._

* * *

His father calls him to lunch. Before he’s fully apologized to his mum, before he’s gotten properly angry at Sebastian, Ciel meets him at the Reaper’s Bookshop. 

“Good afternoon Undertaker,” Vincent greets as he comes in. His smile is wry and a little dangerous. “I understand that you’ve been introducing my son to certain persons…of a questionable nature?” 

Undertaker snickers. “Oh? As expected, you gather information very quickly…” he coughs lightly, hiding his mouth with his long sleeve. “And who are you thinking of?” He bites on the hem of the shirt. 

“Is there more than one? I was thinking of tall, dark man. Far too old for Ciel.” Vincent hedges, walking into Undertaker’s space. “I thought we agreed he’d be doing the usual sort of part time job.” He tilts his head. “The kind where you learn proper social skills and how to count notes.” 

With a laugh like a howl, Undertaker nods. “Yes….yes, I think he is learning social skills. It’s called _dating,_ I believe.” 

Vincent frowns. 

Ciel rolls his eyes. “I thought you were here to talk to _me._ ” He folds his arms. “Undertaker, do you have any of those sandwiches Alois makes?” He peers into the display. “…not your skull ones, thank you.” 

Vincent allows himself to be steered to a table in the back. The space is less dusty and gloomy than one might expect of Undertaker, but Sebastian and Ciel have a lot to do with that. 

While Undertaker serves the sandwiches, Ciel disappears to prepare a pot of tea. For a moment, the two men stare at each other. Undertaker is amused, languid as a cat watching birds, whereas Vincent is tense. 

“…he isn’t involved in anything unsavory.” Vincent murmurs, raising one eyebrow. 

“Not that I’m aware of…he’s been investigating Sebastian.” Undertaker’s lips quirk. “It’s funny.” 

Vincent sighs as Ciel returns with the tea. “You really would do anything for a good laugh.” He sounds torn between admiration and annoyance. “Ciel, do you know the first thing about Sebastian Michaelis?”

Ciel sets the plate down. The only thing he can think to say slips out. “Uh….yes?”

“So you know that in his private secondary school, he probably killed his boyfriend.” Vincent accepts a cup, watching Ciel intently. “Furthermore, his father died under unusual circumstances. With him on the scene.”

Ciel pales. He hadn’t heard mention of the father, after all. “He said he died when he was young.” Ciel presses. “And the…friend…had a previous heart condition. It’s not like he stabbed him or anything.” Ciel pauses. “Wait. You gave my boyfriend a background check in the time it took me to go home?”

“Your point being?”

Undertaker vacates his seat at the chime of a bell. “…hm. Vincent, I recommend sugar with that. Ciel’s tea can be bland.” 

Vincent continues as though nothing was said. “I want you to know what you’re getting into.” 

“More like you want to scare me off.” Ciel’s eyes narrow.

“Be reasonable. You’ve only just met. Why are you taking his word over mine, and—”

“Is that what this is about?” Ciel scoffs. “You’re miffed because I wanted to know about you.”

“I’m not going to tell you that you can’t see him.” Vincent suspects that would make Ciel more persistent, and perhaps more secretive about seeing the other. “But you’re going about this the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s going to make you chase shadows, make you jump at his every call in the name of _investigating_ me. Who knows? He might actually think I’m doing something wrong. He doesn’t _trust_ people, I can tell that at a glance.”

Ciel sips the tea and picks up his sandwich. “And?” 

Vincent frowns, continuing at a faster pace. “A person like that will never trust the police. He won’t trust me, or that I’m not doing anything illegal.” 

“So you don’t have anything else to say on the matter.” Ciel falls back against the chair, dropping his gaze. “We’re going to keep looking, you know. You better not have done anything.”

“Don’t let him make you jump at shadows.” Vincent warns again.

“Dad, we’re just _dating._ I don’t have a heart condition, and I won’t let him come near me with knives.” Ciel takes a few last bites, steadfastly ignoring the look his father gives him. 

“Ciel. You don’t have time to be dating. You need to study for the exams.” 

Exasperated, Ciel picks up his napkin. Waits a moment to compose his voice. “I am studying! I will _keep_ studying.” 

Vincent’s eyebrows twitch. “….ahhh, but why are teenagers so rebellious? I say one thing, and you do the opposite just to spite me.” He folds his hands and contemplates the situation. 

Ciel steals his sandwich. “Mm-hmm.” 

Vincent sighs. “Trust me, Ciel. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt my family. Listen. I’ll take you with me next time there’s a case. You can see what I’m doing up close and personal.” 

Ciel glances up. He looks at the lines creasing his father’s brow, and the way his lips tighten. _Worried, stressed, and probably not eating enough._ he concludes, and reluctantly hands the sandwich over. “…I know, and thanks. I’d like that.” He pushes away from the table. “I’m going to go get another sandwich.” 

This time, Ciel checks the employee fridge, hoping to find a larger stash of food. Alois sometimes stored more than enough for sales, knowing that hungry workers couldn’t stomach too much of Undertaker’s food. _It’s a good thing he’s such a food hoarder._ he thinks, as he opens the door, only to see a large glass jar filled with something red…

Ciel stops poking around. “Is that a—” he stutters, looking at the pinkish fluid and the stringy bits around the gummy balls. “—a glass of, of… _eyes?_ ” 

Undertaker swoops in from behind. He always was able to ghost up on unsuspecting visitors. “Shh.” He says. “Oh, Ciel? While you’re here…I need someone to cover me for an hour.” He smiles slowly. “Maybe a little longer…be a dear and do that for me, hm?” He takes the jar and closes the fridge. 

With a helpless look from the fridge to Undertaker, he offers a tentative complaint. “You know, we put our _food_ in there. That’s probably against health codes or something.” 

Undertaker chuckles. “It had to go somewhere…” 

_Well, the days are never boring…_

Ciel coughs, and walks back to tell his dad the news.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we will be ending this work within the next two chapters. (I think. XD) I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. Do let me know if there's any last things you want to see before I call it quits on this one. ♥


	15. Just who's in charge here anyway?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel follows Sebastian to work, and then Sebastian meets Ciel's parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To remind fellow Americans. (All…nearly 100 of you who have clicked?), college is synonymous to the sixth form. The sixth form is for preparing for University. For more info, do google it. 
> 
> This chapter is for Carrie, who wanted to see the last two scenes. XD Thank her if you found it amusing too. ♥ (As a result, we still have 2 more chapters. This one is extra. ♥)

**Chapter 15:** Who is in control here?

* * *

Ciel finds that he has spent more time in Sebastian’s flat these past three days than the has in his own bedroom in the past week. He expected some of Sebastian’s clutter to come out, some abandoned magazine, or dirty bowl left in the sink, but so far, it is as clean and neat as he first arrived. There isn’t even any dust on the window seat.

 _On the surface, he’s perfectly respectable, _Ciel frowns with thought. _But even nick the surface and all sorts of things come to the surface…___ Sebastian’s colorful job history and past aside, he also seems to have an unhealthy obsession with cats. 

At first, he was happy that Sebastian wanted to learn about toy making, plushies and the basics of his family’s traditional livelihood. But that was before he discovered the half-finished bodies of fluffy kittens and cat plushies. He hides a finished prototype under the sofa and clears his throat.

“So, my parents want to meet you…” Ciel touches the back of the seat.

“Really? Why’s that?” Sebastian doesn’t look up from his latest creation—a cat with devil wings and an eye patch.

“Because, well, my dad sort of asked…” he drops his gaze, a little humiliated at this…posh little school thing to do.

“Ah, yes. When you said I was your boyfriend.” Sebastian’s lips _nearly_ twitch up into a smile. 

Ciel fidgets. _Are we dating?_

“Would you like me to formally ask you out, Ciel? That might be occasion to see your parents…” Sebastian at last looks up. 

Ciel throws a pillow at Sebastian. “Anyway, come around for tea on your next day off.”

Sebastian puts his sewing supplies aside, and disappears into his bedroom. When he comes back, he heads to the kitchen to put an apron on.

“I don’t want to watch you make lunch,” Ciel sighs. “I’m bored.”

“Do you want to play with my cat, then?” Sebastian reveals a small kitten, black and fluffy. 

“I don’t like cats. Besides, when did you get a cat? Don’t tell me you let me sleep over with that thing prowling around all night.” He shudders. 

Sebastian chuckles. “She doesn’t prowl. Not big enough.” He holds the creature to his cheek, nuzzling it. “You can’t look at her and say she’s not adorable, can you?”

“I don’t. Like. Cats. I’m allergic. Can’t we watch a movie, or play a game or something?” Ciel hears a whine in his voice, but can’t do anything about it. 

Seriously, where did the cat come from?

Sebastian sets the cat down onto a cushion and washes his hands. The apron stays on. 

Ciel frowns. “I don’t want to watch you make one of your stupid meals! Let’s just go out for fish and chips…”

“You want entertainment?” Sebastian’s voice is warm, teasing. He removes the apron and folds back his sleeves. With his collar open and his wrists bare, Sebastian appears as another entity entirely. Fiery eyes and a cool countenance, he captures Ciel’s attention entirely. He takes slow steps to where Ciel sits and leans in close. 

Ciel holds his breath. 

Sebastian’s hands on his shoulders are slightly chilled, but strong. He seems to savor the moment, looking at Ciel. When his lips press at Ciel’s, he pulls at the soft tissue, and then nips at his tongue. It’s enough to make Ciel flinch back.

“Oh my, look at that face. Was that your first kiss?” Sebastian whispers into his ear.

Ciel pushes at Sebastian with a fist, surprised and flushed. 

“Don’t worry…I’ll be gentle…” Sebastian is practically sitting on Ciel now, gingerly kissing Ciel’s neck. He leaves a trail of prickling heat, and Ciel squirms away.

“I am not that easy, Sebastian Michaelis. You said you’d do what I say.” Ciel looks around for some inspiration, some way to get a better hold of the situation. 

Taking Ciel’s face in his hands, Sebastian kisses him more gently this time, but still full on the lips. He pauses, meeting Ciel’s gaze with a curious expression.

This close, Ciel imagines that he can feel Sebastian’s mind working. All his actions are just elaborate misdirection. He seems to push to see what he finds. Sebastian is all curiosity—exploring the human psyche. 

“…kissing is all right….” Ciel admits. He doesn’t like the way Sebastian smirks at him. “But we’re going out.” He offers his own cocky smile.

Sebastian leans in again, but is stopped with a rough motion from Ciel. He maneuvers Sebastian under him, moving Sebastian into the window seat and on his back. Ciel smiles with satisfaction now that he has comfortably reversed the situation.

Sebastian’s expression is strangely proper, schooled into a mask of polite interest in spite of the fact that he has a teenaged boy sitting on him. “Kiss and run, Mr. Phantomhive?”

“Mm…maybe…” Ciel casts his eyes about, looking for something. He tugs on Sebastian’s tie. “…do you have a collar?” Ciel asks, thinking of S&M pictures he’s seen. “Can I tie something to it?”

Sebastian frowns, and says nothing for a long moment. 

Ciel gets up, walking for Sebastian’s wardrobe. “I’m sure I can find something for us to do… Something more interesting than watching you cook or play with a cat.”

Sebastian chuckles to himself in the warm sunlight, and wonders if he ought let Ciel wander on his own.

“You stay there, Sebastian. Don’t move an inch.” Ciel’s voice is muffled by the door, but oddly severe. Commanding. 

Amused, Sebastian does as he is told, and forgets all mentions of meeting Ciel’s family.

* * *

“Good evening young sir. Are you here on your own today?” The receptionist is different from the man he saw the first time he visited The House of Thorns. She wears little more than an under bust corset and a very small bra. Ciel doesn’t look close enough to see if she is wearing a matching bikini bottom. 

Ciel eyes the fancy script on the wall. “All attendants must adhere to costume requirements, depending on their theme room.” He notes the woman eying his own clothing and assumes she deems him appropriately ‘in costume.’ The idea amuses him. 

“Is this your first visit? I’m afraid normal business hours are not until later, dear…there’s only a party going on.” 

“I’m with the party,” Ciel says, and lays down enough notes and coins to cover the entrance fee. The woman is too slow to stop him from walking in or to check his ID.

The inside of the club is dimly lit, with a few doors immediately visible. Each door hints at the theme. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to look far for the early partygoers. Sebastian is right in the thick of things, standing over an isolated pair in Victorian-esque costume--guests or employees, Ciel can’t guess. The woman lays on her stomach, expansive skirt flipped up around her waist. Her bare bottom is already pink.

Ciel feels heat rush to his cheeks, but he lets his feet carry him forward. He reaches up and catches Sebastian’s wrist just before he brings his hand down. 

“Today was your day off. You weren’t supposed to work today,” he enunciates carefully. “I made plans!” 

Sebastian’s startled gaze and the surrounding attendants obvious embarrassment and discomfort snap Ciel out of his thoughts.

Another woman, this one wearing a decidedly out of century dog collar over her Victorian neck ruffle stands before Ciel and Sebastian. Sebastian removes his gloved hand from Ciel’s and steps back. He bows to the pair, already murmuring some kind of apology.

The woman slaps a slick pamphlet into Ciel’s hands. Ciel looks down to see:

“DUNGEON/PLAY ETIQUETTE. 

Do not interrupt a scene. Do not walk through a scene. Give players space. Do not touch without permission,” he reads.

He looks back up at the angry woman. She seethes, pulling him along like a misbehaved child. 

Ciel finds himself back in the receptionist area faster than he thought possible. 

She blows air into his face. It’s surprisingly minty. “I’m afraid we don’t give refunds to rule breakers, sir.” The woman gives a ridiculously formal curtsy considering her sexy getup, but Ciel imagines she thinks it in character. 

Astounded, Ciel finds himself being pushed out yet again by the secretary.

“What just happened?” Ciel frowns in confusion, wondering if Sebastian will follow him or not. He sighs, and then decides to send Sebastian an irate text message.

* * *

The Phantomhive residence is not what Sebastian had dreamt, when the P4 described their family. He’d seen photos of the mansion, now black with fire’s breath, and he imagined they would sell the land when they had a buyer, if only to allay debt. But the modest house that Ciel has been living in is smart, trim, and altogether…average. 

Sebastian and Ciel approach.

Ciel clears his throat. By the way he moves his hands slowly and with care, Sebastian thinks he must be working hard to keep from tapping his fingers or fidgeting unnecessarily.

He reaches out to open the door, and calls in to announce their presence. “I’m back...”

Sebastian observes Ciel carefully, taking note that he does not remove his coat or shoes. But he does wait in the hall with Sebastian just long enough for his parents (or whoever) to make final preparations.

From the parlor, footsteps echo against the plaster. “So pleased you could make it…” Rachel murmurs, sweeping by a Victorian style table decorated with family plushies. No name cards were on top, but Sebastian recognizes it by the rim on the edge, designed to keep calling cards from slipping off. 

Ciel exchanges what might be a conspiratorial glance with his father, who was leaning casually farther back in the hallway. Rachel gives them both a disapproving frown.

Sebastian imagines she’ll be doing a lot of that this afternoon. 

“This way please,” she smiles. “We’ll just be having a bit of low tea in the parlor, I’m afraid. I hope we won’t keep you for supper.” She puts one hand on Ciel’s shoulder, just as the boy shrugs out of her grasp. 

Sebastian smiles faintly, murmuring the appropriate response.

Vincent grins, and catches Sebastian’s hand in a strong handshake. “Thank you for coming.”

Sebastian notes the quality of the furniture (high, but well mended, not new) and the fashion of the room (out of date, but sort of artsy). It’s similar to the way Ciel dresses when out of uniform…the family has a taste for the old-fashioned, it seems. 

“Please have a seat.” Vincent gestures to the low armchair.

He does as his host suggests without a look, and seats himself. Sebastian briefly examines the tiered stand, noting the carefully prepared sandwiches, scones and tiny cakes. They are clearly hand made, and of good quality rather than ordered out. He wonders how many misshaped scones or burnt cakes are hidden away in the kitchen...and who made them.

Rachel sits down next to her husband and smiles hesitantly at Sebastian. “So, how have the days been treating you?” 

Of course, first they talk about the weather and such. With the formal pleasantries out of the way, everyone relaxes a bit. After all, formalities must be observed, and nothing can start without a bit of the tension breaking. 

“I’m sure you must be very busy this time of year. Are you at university?” Rachel asks, sounding for all purposes politely interested.

Before Sebastian can reply, Vincent too is asking a question, all straight faced and serious. “Do you have any experience with the law?”

Ciel snorts inelegantly. He eyes his father with open annoyance. _Couldn’t be a bit subtler, could you?_ His expression says. 

“Vincent!” Rachel scolds, touching his arm lightly with the tips of her fingers. Ever the lady, she apologizes to Sebastian. “Oh, please ignore him. I’m sure he thinks he’s being funny. So, school?” 

Sebastian smiles politely, resisting the urge to show teeth. “I’m not attending university, Mrs. Phantomhive.”

Ciel smiles lightly, and answers the rest for Sebastian. “He’s already working, mum.”

“Oh…” The color comes to Rachel’s cheeks. “Is that so?” She falters momentarily before adding, “Are you taking a gap year, then? Ciel is still finishing college and A-levels. Mr. Michaelis, you will apply to university, yes?"

Ciel looks at his mother, aghast. “…not everyone goes to university, mum. Some people can succeed without it.”

“And you, Ciel? You’re going to pass the A-levels and start applications soon, right?” Her gaze is steady, but there’s a twitch in the set of her mouth.

Ciel flushes, and tries to hide it by taking a sip of his tea. The silence stretches uncomfortably.

Rachel clears her throat. “Do have a scone, everyone. And where do you work, Mr. Michaelis?” She smiles, her face still hopeful and polite. Clearly she wants to believe that the best can still be salvaged from this situation.

Again, Vincent asks a question on the tail end of the sentence. “Do you enjoy clubs, Mr. Michaelis?” His smile is wicked.

Ciel, who has barely taken a scone into his hands, coughs. His mouth drops open, and he glares at his father. 

Rachel looks in confusion at her husband, obviously not following the conversation. She raises an eyebrow, but chooses not to excuse this question. 

“I do favor the bookshop cafe that Ciel works at,” Sebastian says cautiously. He samples the scone. He meets Vincent’s gaze and smiles. “I take some commission work with an online security company, but I also work in something like a pub.” 

Vincent smirks at that description. “A pub.”

Rachel is silent for a moment, and allows them to sip and munch on the snacks. “Have some more apricot tea, dear,” Rachel says, and refills his cup. 

Conversation returns to the weather and Ciel’s upcoming exams. Sebastian agrees politely and eats slowly. 

“Oh, it’s quite stressful for the whole family,” she sighs, handing the pot to her husband. She gestures for everyone to take a scone, thinking on what to say next. 

Sebastian imagines her checking the question from her mental list of social requirements as he sets his cup onto his saucer.

 

“Ciel, please do tell us you intend to graduate from college.” Vincent gives a thin smile to rival Sebastian’s. 

Ciel grits his teeth, but forces himself to smile. "Of course," he says sweetly.

Rachel’s eyes flitter to her son. She suddenly grins. “Well, if you have the talent and the drive, I suppose our son could do whatever he pleases. But university is a great place to meet all sorts of young ladies…” she coughs. “…and gentlemen…” 

Ciel suddenly remembers that his mother is, after all, related to his boisterous, loud Aunt Anne. “…I really didn’t want to hear that.” Ciel flushes, and tries to hide it by taking a sip of his tea. 

Rachel clears her throat. “Does your family live nearby?” She smiles, her face still hopeful and polite. Clearly she wants to believe that the best can still be salvaged from this situation.

“Do you have any living relatives left?” Vincent asks sardonically. To heighten the irony, he changes out the teabags for another flavor, as though he asked a common question. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have any close relatives. I grew up on the charity of the connections my father formed before he died, or the good people in the community.” Sebastian smiles sadly, or at least attempts to appear so. 

“But you graduated from a good secondary school and is close with some families in Weston University. He’s not completely unqualified you know. Not that I need qualifications for a friend.” Ciel sneaks a sidelong glance at Sebastian. He seems more unsettled by events than Sebastian.

The conversation stills. 

Sebastian begins to laugh. He covers his mouth with one hand, and looks up at Ciel. Mirth dances between condescension and obsession. 

Vincent observes with open interest, whilst his wife stares. 

Ciel stands up. “…I think it’s time to go.” He takes Sebastian’s hand.

Sebastian allows himself to be lead away from the table. He gives a bow with a flourish. “It was a pleasure to have your acquaintance.” His eyes move to Vincent. “Formally, that is, Mister Phantomhive.” 

As they pass through the hall, Sebastian accepts a call. Ciel can hear the Undertaker’s distinctive tone, and the halting, half whispery tone he affects when he’s trying to be secretive.

Ciel doesn’t bother trying to hide his curiosity. He motions to turn the phone outward so he can listen too.

“Are you interested in helping out as part of the staff for a themed event? I was thinking of doing hell…or maybe Victorian Boarding School…”

Ciel rolls his eyes, and gives up on that conversation. He has too much to think about as it is. Neither one is likely to listen to him.

* * *

tbc…


	16. Closing Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Ciel take care of a few things.

The Reaper’s Bookshop  
Chapter 16: Closing time.

Sebastian clears his throat. He looks like he’s role-playing the part of a teacher—or maybe a lawyer, as he’s a bit over dressed. He taps a manila folder and raises an eyebrow behind his glasses. 

“What are you wearing?” Ciel snorts.

“Don’t you even care to see what I have for you?” He gives Ciel his best impression of a teacher frowning.

“I’m working. Don’t get in my way.” 

Sebastian ignores him and sits at the table closest to the coffee bar. “I have solved your company’s financial issues for this quarter,” Sebastian announces. He leans forward, and delicately flips a page. 

_More of a lawyer after all. Definitely a lawyer,_ Ciel muses. He risks looking at Sebastian. 

“You might as well sit down. You don’t have any customers,” Sebastian says, meeting his eyes and smiling slightly. He looks suggestively at the chair opposite. 

“Hey.” Gregory looks up from his sketchpad. As a regular of the shop, he would have expected more attention. Then again, perhaps not when Ciel is angry with the P4. Neither Sebastian nor Ciel pays him any more attention. 

Sebastian reveals two more printouts. “I took the liberty of releasing your design, the certain soft plush toy at a toy convention for dolls-and-toy makers, a collector’s fair, and at specialty shops in Akihabara under the title, Bitter Rabbit. With my marketing plan--”

“Save it.” Ciel steps in for a kiss. “You saved the family business, hurray, hurrah.” He can’t quite keep the smile from becoming a smirk. At last recalling that they are not in private, Ciel steps away to resume dusting. (A never-ending battle in the Undertaker’s bookshop. Not to mention a losing one…) 

While he cleans, he thinks about the problem Gregory and the others brought to his doorstep. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s talking about it, albeit quietly. 

“I’ve started talking to other people about dad. He’s either clean, or going to pull back with you snooping around. Not that it’s any of the P4s business.” He gives Gregory a pointed look. “If I get any more harassment about that, I’m getting a lawyer.”

Gregory merely continues drawing. “Hmmm.” He looks up briefly, but his long hair shadows his eyes. 

Sebastian looks towards the refrigerator and oven behind the bar. “Your pie dough should be chilled by now. Do you want help?”

“Ah, right...need to add filling.” Ciel sighs. “Why do we have to make the sweets now?” he grumbles. Since Sebastian started coming around, his workload has nearly doubled. 

“No, you need to let it get to room temperature, roll it, and then add filling,” Sebastian chides. He rises, pushes in his chair, and snatches an apron from under the counter. Ignoring the gothic maid design, he wraps it around Ciel. 

“Why do I have to wear this?” Ciel grumbles.

“You are more likely to spill than I am.” Sebastian smiles and laces Ciel up. 

“Not so tight,” Ciel grumbles. “What is this, torture?? And hey, just because I let you help doesn’t mean you have any right to my paycheck,” Ciel warns.

“But I should get a share of the profits of your Bitter Rabbit sales, as your agent producer manager.” Sebastian quips. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

“We’re not talking about that now.” They go about the kitchen, preparing to finish the sweets. “Why are there so many crusts?”

“These are tart shells,” Sebastian explains. “I made them.”

“But we’re already making more than enough for the lemon meringue...” 

“Don’t fret, Ciel…this is good. You’ll like it,” Sebastian promises, putting on a pair of kitchen gloves. He sets out almond paste and uncovers a glass bowl of pears Ciel hadn’t noticed before.

Ciel hmms in approval, and while he distracts Sebastian with a brush of lips   
against his cheek, he steals a nut from the syrup-like juice and plops it in his mouth a second later. He steps away with a smirk. 

Sebastian merely smiles at Ciel, amused. As Sebastian works, he speaks quietly. “So you decided to try and keep any and all news from the P4? Or trust your father not to make mistakes?”

Ciel shrugs. “I never heard anything that suggested he was up to anything except managing poorly. Only you and the P4 are keen on knowing about his police investigation hobby. And I said before, I don’t think he could hide anything illegal or unsavory from his police mates. So the investigation stops here.”

Under Sebastian’s hands, pears are reduced to thin slices. Then he whisks a separate bowl at a furious pace. Almond paste, sugar, butter and egg-whites combine to make a mouthwatering smell. _For someone who enjoys cooking, he doesn’t look like he’s taking it at the right pace..._ Ciel wonders if he dislikes being kept from investigating. _Or maybe he just doesn’t_ really _like being told to quit snooping._

But Ciel has customers to serve and books to sell. He exits the kitchen. Twenty minutes later, the tarts are baking. Lemon meringue pie ingredients are laid out, already measured and waiting to be used.

When the business slows, Ciel walks away from the registers, preferring to talk to Gregory this time. _Sebastian will probably finish this next pie as well, the show off._

“Hey,” Ciel sits down next to the older teen. “Do something about the P4, would you?”

“Mmm…” Gregory responds, noncommittal. 

Ciel leans in to look at the sketchbook. It’s a drawing of Sebastian, he’s startled to find. Sebastian looking deathly pale and serious as a devil, with a sly grin like a knife-slit. Currently, Gregory details a…rather too ornate depiction of blood coming out his mouth. When he notices Ciel’s gaze, Gregory lazily etches 00666 in the corner, as one might with a caption. 

Ciel blinks. “Is that the explanation? What, is Sebastian supposed to be some sort of demonic secret agent?” He frowns. “Wouldn’t it only be 666? The 00 is only for the first nine, wouldn’t you say?”

Gregory stops and stares at the paper. “…hm.” 

They stare in silence for a bit.

Undertaker leans in over the boys, startling them with his proximity. “And 010 for the ones after nine to ninety-nine …” he drawls. “I remember that story...” he snickers. “I like the blood effect, Gregory. Maybe a little more on his hands, yes? Let him hold something nasty…” Undertaker rests his chin on his long fingers. He slowly tilts his head to look at Ciel. “How’s the baking going? Getting along well with Sebastian in the kitchen? Also, I found this in the break room...” He pulls a piece of paper from his voluminous sleeves. 

It’s a university application.

Gregory raises one eyebrow. He peers over Ciel’s shoulder. 

The tarts smell divine. Ciel wordlessly takes the application in hand, and slinks back to the kitchen, where neither Gregory nor Undertaker can prod him. 

There, Sebastian sets the pear and almond tarts on antique cooling racks. The tarts are still too hot to eat, but even still, he can’t resist the temptation to try it. 

He examines the beautiful tart, eying the candied cherries and pear slices. With delight, he pulls one pear slice and candied cherry from the top with his fingers. Then he observes it closely and just resisting the urge to blow on it. He puts them in his mouth (and burns his tongue) before Sebastian can scold him. He licks his fingers, soothing the mild burn.

Sebastian is frowning this time. “Please stop snacking, little cat,” he chides, shaking his head at Ciel’s food stealing antics before reaching for the document Ciel holds with his other hand.

He scans the application, and looks at just one thing. Under College Preference, Ciel has checked “Art and Design.”

Sebastian smiles.

* * *

(fin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed “The Reaper’s Bookshop.” I did! Especially exploring Ciel and Sebastian’s awkward relationship.
> 
> …my lovely beta, Carrie, wants to see a date, but I am lacking inspiration at the moment. If you come up with cool ideas, lemme know. 
> 
> Otherwise, I am going to work on the next Kuro story!! :D See you there!


End file.
